Together Forever
by Sarah Crawford
Summary: Written w/ SparklingTeardrops. What if Christine did not kiss Erik when she said that she would stay with him and in turn he did not let her go? When she chooses to stay, both Christine and Erik must learn to love as they face the future together forever.
1. Time to Say Goodbye

Together Forever

Counterpoint: **Erik** and Christine

A/N and Disclaimer: Co-written by SparklingTeardrops (formerly Christine4ever86). Christine has written Christine Daaé's POV, and I have written Erik's POV. This began as a two-person role play, and then evolved into a fan fiction. We do not own these characters, although we enjoy borrowing them immensely. They belong to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and even a bit to Susan Kay. All we really own is the plot and words in the order they are on the page. This story is based primarily on Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical and the 2004 movie, but a bit of Leroux and Kay always slip into my writing. Enjoy and leave us a review if you get the chance.

Summary: What if Christine did not kiss Erik when she said that she would stay with him in return for Raoul's life and in turn he did not let her go? When she chooses to stay, both Christine and Erik must learn to love as they face the future together forever.

Chapter One

Time to Say Goodbye

**I shook my head in utter disbelief. What had she just said? Surely I had misheard those words. Christine could not have just told me that she would stay with me. Yet as I looked at her she remained at my side—trembling true, but she was still standing there at my side— resolute in her decision, her tiny hand clasping mine. Those beautiful china blue eyes gazed at me as tears streamed down her cheeks… tears of pity… pity for me… and yes, I could not deny that they were doubtless mingled with tears for her young man. He did not matter now. I had won! Christine would be my bride. But why did my victory feel so hollow? The answer was there, deep in her eyes as she gazed at that boy. She was doing this for him, out of love for her little viscount. Yet somehow, there remained hope buried within my heart that Christine Daaé would learn to love me, perhaps not in the same way that she loved Chagny, but one day I hoped to own a piece of the precious heart that beat within her breast.**

**A smile spread across my misshapen lips as I moved to free her lover. The instant the young man was untied, he ran to Christine, taking her into his arms. I turned from the couple, not willing for Christine to see the tears welling up in my eyes. "Say goodbye to him, Christine," I whispered, fighting desperately to choke back my tears. "It is time to say goodbye to your young man."**

"Raoul," I choked, placing a hand on his face, "I will always love you, no matter how far apart we are." The tears fell relentlessly down my cheeks. "I will always be yours." His embrace tightened and a look of despair shadowed his wet eyes.

"How can I let you go?" he asked holding me to his heart. Through tightly clenched teeth he whispered, "I will come back for you."

"No Raoul, please…. If you came back, there would be nothing to stop him from hurting, or maybe even killing you. I can live knowing that you are somewhere in this world…. I cannot live knowing that you are gone."

"I'll fight. I'll fight him now."

"_Please_ Raoul, do as I say and just go!" I could hardly control myself now. He was making this harder for me.

"I love you Christine," he said fiercely. Holding me tightly, he kissed me long, and deep. Pulling slowly out of the kiss, I turned a tear-stained face to the Phantom.

"We're ready," I said dully.

**I stood, frozen by immovable grief as the couple spoke their final words of love. In my mind I berated myself for parting my beloved from the man she adored. But a promise is a promise, and she had given her word to become my bride. My jaws muscles tightened when the foolish boy spoke of fighting me. Why, he wouldn't stand a chance! His life was in my hands a moment ago. It still was, and it always would be. Christine was mine, and he could not have her again. **_**Mine**_**! We had made a bargain, his life for her love. How dare he even think of breaking his word? After all that had occurred, that dolt of a viscount still imagined that he could defeat me! A familiar red haze began to veil my sight. My hands balled into fists at my sides, and my breathing became shallow and ragged. I knew these signs all too well. In a moment I would experience one of my frequent blind fits of fury.**

**Suddenly, my murderous rage was cooled, for Christine was speaking to me. "We're ready," she said. My wrath died down immediately at the sound of that heavenly voice. Her tone was low and lifeless, but she was speaking to me. At last they were ready to part, and Christine would spend the rest of her life with me.**

"**Good," I said, turning again to meet her lovely eyes. My own voice was cold and acrid, chilled by the hatred that I felt for the young man at her side. "I will return as soon as possible, Christine. You will find everything that you can need in your room." With that, I moved towards the lever that opened the iron gates to my home. As the obstruction rose, I stepped into the boat, motioning for Chagny to follow. "Come, Monsieur le Viscount," I beckoned in a voice barely above a whisper. He glared at me with a look of pure hostility then turned to Christine, as if in defiance of my request, taking her into his arms one last time.**

"**I love you, Christine," he repeated at the close of their embrace. Then, most reluctantly, the young man took his place in the small craft.**

**As we rowed away, he clung to the back of the boat, not willing to miss his final chance to look upon the woman whom we both adored. He called to her several times, saying such nonsense as, "Christine, it does not have to end this way! You are throwing your life away! Please reconsider. One word from you and you will be free." Her only response was more helpless tears. "I love you!" he cried. "I will come back for you!"**

"**Silence Chagny!" I screamed. I turned on him furiously, abandoning the pole in my hands. It clattered to the floor of the boat as my hands encircled his neck, dragging him toward me. "One more word out of you, and I may forget my promise to spare you!" I shook him wrathfully as all sense of reason began to leave my mind.**

**A piercing scream brought my actions to a halt. **_**Christine**_**! Christine would be heartbroken if I were to hurt her young man. And what would she think of me? If I allowed myself to murder the boy, Christine would be free of her promise, and she would never, never learn to love me. I simply could not kill him. Letting out an angry growl, I released him, dropping the startled young man to the wooden surface below.**

**For the remainder of our journey, my eyes remained fixed on the watery path before us. At last, we arrived at the opposite shore. I stepped from the boat and began to ascend the stairway that would lead us to Christine's dressing room. The soft echoing of a second set of footsteps told me that the viscount continued to follow close behind me. When at last we reached the mirror, I opened the device and allowed the boy to step through.**

"**Monster!" With that accusation, he turned to go.**

"**I have been called worse things," I stated apathetically, "and you have not been dismissed." The boy paused at the door and looked at me, ****the ever present defiance shining through his**** bewilderment. "You spoke to Christine of returning. I merely wish to warn you not to act upon those words. You had better not set foot in my domain again, Chagny!" I growled. "You may enter the Opera above, but if you so much as attempt to traverse the cellars bellow, your life will not be worth two francs! Is that understood?"**

**Before he could make any reply, I was on my way down the long stairwell, the mirror slamming behind me.**

I watched the boat pull away... my eyes almost blinded with tears. _Oh Raoul,_ I thought. _How can I live without you?_ Raoul's passionate cries fell upon me like daggers, every word wrenching more pain from my already bleeding heart. Then I saw something that made my blood turn cold. The Phantom… he was shaking… choking—I froze in horror—choking my Raoul! I couldn't move, and I screamed in pure rage and terror. Then the room swam and everything turned black.

**As I made my way back to my subterranean kingdom, all thoughts of Chagny were erased from my mind. In their place, my mind was flooded with visions of Christine. The very thought of her brought a smile to my lips and lighted my heart. She was mine now… my living bride… the love of my life waiting for me in my home. I found it difficult to steer my boat through the familiar passages of the underground lake, for my hands were trembling from sheer elation.**

**After what seemed like ages, my house on the lake came into view. And then I saw her. **_**Christine**_**! My angel was lying on the ground. Why, she must have fainted… or worse. Hot tears began pouring down my cheeks. Surely she would not take her own life, yet even death would be superior to life as my bride. I propelled the boat onward with hurried strokes.**

**The moment the craft had touched the stony shore I sprang to my beloved's side. I could not help but notice how pale Christine appeared as I knelt near her motionless body. Drawing in a shaky breath, I lay my head against her chest, listening for any sign of life. A sigh of relief passed from my malformed lips. Her heart was still beating, and her breathing was quite normal. I found it exceedingly difficult to separate my head from those perfect breasts—so soft… so warm… so compelling.**

**I pulled back, shaking my head furiously in order to expel the thoughts that were racing through my mind. Fiery passion raged within my entire body, arousing desires that I had always denied myself the right to experience. **_**Stop it Erik!**_** I chided. **_**When will you learn to have a little patience?**_** I stood slowly, holding her limp body close to my heart. I carried Christine to her bed, the bed where she had slept on her first night in my home. I reflected with much sorrow that she had also passed out on that evening. As I laid her upon the bed, a chocolate curl tumbled from behind her ear and covered one eye. I gently brushed the velvety curl aside. Then with a deep sigh, I left her to rest. As for myself, perhaps I would sleep, but first I planned to work on my music.**


	2. When you are Ready

Chapter Two

When You Are Ready

**As I emerged from Christine's room, I noticed that I had left the gate open. Not wishing to present free admittance to any unwanted visitors—Chagny in particular—I quickly lowered the iron gate. Then I stepped toward my boat, tying it in its usual place. Although I knew that I should rest, my work in progress seemed to be beckoning that I return to it. _Just one hour._ I told myself. _I will devote one hour to my music, and then I will sleep._ I moved to my organ and took a seat, lovingly fingering the pages of my latest masterpiece. True, I had been working on this piece for quite some time—I recalled that I had begun this stirring composition on the morning that I first saw Christine—but it had been laid aside for several months now, allowing me the necessary time to finish my greatest work, _Don Juan Triumphant._ Now I was returning to this lovely work, a wedding mass dedicated to my Christine.**

**I closed my eyes as I allowed my fingers to dance lightly over the keys. I could see her in that lovely wedding dress, which she wore even now as she slept, standing in a magnificent cathedral, surrounded by vast, shimmering candelabras. The soft music—the very piece which I was composing at the moment—caressed her senses as the silken gown flowed around her exquisitely formed body. Christine was slowly approaching me with that delicate, graceful gait that I had come to adore, a beautiful smile painted on her lips, a smile of love. An enamored smile crossed my own lips as I continued to play. Reality seemed to fade away. Although I knew that Christine did not care for me—she was more likely to despise me for sending her young man away—I preferred to dream. Her feelings for that foolish boy did not matter anymore. Christine would be my wife. My love for her was all that mattered in the world, and I could only hope that in time perhaps she would come to love me as well.**

**In what seemed to be only a few minutes later, I rose from the bench and carefully closed the cherished manuscript. A glance at the nearby grandfather clock alerted me to the fact that those "few minutes" had actually been several hours. It was almost 4:00 AM. No matter, the time had been well spent, for my composition was nearly complete. I was rather pleased with my work but extremely fatigued. With a yawn, I shuffled off to my own room ready for a good night's sleep. I quickly changed and then allowed myself to lie down. My eyes scanned the coffin-like bed that I had slept in for so many years. Somehow, it no longer seemed appropriate. For years I had lain in this bed, wishing that I would not live to see another day, but now all that had changed. In the midst of my dark world, there was one brilliant glimmer of hope, and that hope was Christine. With a contented sigh, I snuggled down beneath the supple sheets, allowing my leaded eyelids to fall shut. In a matter of minutes, I had drifted into a deep slumber filled with sweet dreams of my Christine.**

I woke with a start. Where was I? My senses slowly came back to me…. I was under the Opera House… with him… the Phantom. Through my tears I realized I still wore the wedding dress. I needed some other clothes. Spying a dresser, I rose off the swan bed, opened some of the drawers, and soon found underclothes and a light, white robe.

My _Don Juan _costume lay on the floor where I had thrown it the night before when changing into the wedding gown. Stooping, I picked it up…. It reminded me of last night… of Raoul…. Was I ever to see him again? My strained emotions overcame me, and dropping the dress I fell onto the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

**My eyes flew open as I sat stark upright in bed, not knowing yet what had awakened me. I glanced around warily. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so I simply returned to my former reclining position, and I began massaging my temples in slow methodic circles. As I continued this attempt to lull myself back to sleep, the sound of pitiful weeping drifted to my ears. The sound began soft and then crescendoed to a poignant cry of agony. Those desperate sobs could only be coming from one place; only one woman could transform a discordant lamentation into so beautiful a melody. My heart pounded wildly as I rose, swiftly replacing my mask and then throwing a robe around my skeletal frame.**

**In her adjoining room, I found Christine lying on the bed lost in a flood of helpless tears. Doubtless, she missed her vicomte…. Perhaps she even assumed that I had annihilated him. She did not appear to take notice as I crept to her side, though I did not know why she should. Her mind was clearly occupied with thoughts of Chagny. That contemplation sent a burning sensation throughout my chest… a sensation of hatred…. Yes, I clearly felt loathing for that boy… yet at the moment that hate was mingled with grief. The sight of the woman whom I adored overcome with frantic tears filled my soul with unspeakable agony, and that agony was doubled as I considered that I was the cause of her sorrow.**

"**Christine…" I spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "Christine, my love, please do not distress yourself so. It brings me great pain to see you in tears…. Your young man is alive and well. Do not cry anymore, please…. Christine… I love you." Lowering myself to one knee, I laid a timid hand on her arm. In an instant, the poor girl pulled that delicate limb away, a look of revulsion crossing her lovely face. I swiftly withdrew my hand, freeing her from its icy touch. I dared not show the agony with which her response had filled me. I stood rather stiffly, my gaze dropping to the floor and my countenance becoming cold and aloof. "Very well," I said grimly, turning to go. As I strode to the door, a sorrowful sigh unwittingly escaped my lips. Then, without turning to look at her, I spoke again, allowing only apathy to come through in my tone:**

"**I am going now to prepare your breakfast. You will find a wide variety of clothing in the wardrobe. I trust there is at least one gown that will be to your liking. The door to your left leads to a bathroom, if wish to clean your face. I offer my apologies for the lack of a mirror. I will have it replaced if you wish. When you have finished dressing, I will be awaiting you in the kitchen."**

I choked back tears that were threatening to come as I watched him leave. I wouldn't be able to live if I let myself give way to my emotions all the time. Numbly I rose off the bed, opened the wardrobe, and chose maroon gown, similar to the one I wore the time I went to visit my father's grave. My father… Oh, if he were only here! I would be safe with him. Pangs of hunger finally drove me to seek the kitchen, and I stood in the doorway, staring blankly at the Phantom.

**I left the bedroom with a weary sigh. My steps where nearly as heavy as my heart, as I strode to the kitchen to fix the breakfast that I had promised Christine. This was not going to be easy on either of us. I could see that much already. The poor girl was still terrified of me, though I could not truthfully say that she did not have cause to be. Doubtless, she despised me for my decision to keep her here with me, and once again, I reasoned sorrowfully to myself that she had every right to hate me.**

**When I had arrived at my destination, I glance briefly at my watch. The time was a quarter past eight. Four hour of sleep would have to do for today. Giving a shrug of my bony shoulders, I opened one of the kitchen cabinets and began to search for clean dishes. Most of my best dishes were lying scattered across the counter still waiting to be cleaned, but in time I found a suitable set of plates. After lying them out on the table—complete with silverware and napkins—I moved to the ice box and began rummaging through it in search of something that I could fix for my honored guest. I kept very little food, as I myself did not eat often, and it was most difficult to locate any proper breakfast foods. I almost never ate breakfast. In fact, I only ate when I felt that it was absolutely necessary to do so, which was rarely more than once a day.**

**In a few minutes, I returned triumphantly to the table with two small, battered eggs and a few pieces of uncooked bacon. I placed them on the table carefully, and then turned to the stove and countertop, clearing away the several months of dirty dishes which covered them. After an entirely futile search for a clean skillet, I decided to wash the dishes. When that task was finished I began my cooking, periodically stifling a yawn as I worked. At the slightest noise, I would turn expectantly hoping to see Christine standing before me, but each time I glanced over my shoulder I found that no one was there. My beloved had not emerged from her room, and in time, I had begun to wonder if I would be required to bring her breakfast to her room.**

**Christine's meal was nearly finished when I heard a soft rustling sound behind me. I turned, slowly this time, thinking that the sound was simply a figment of my imagination, covering my mouth as yet another yawn escaped me. The sight which met my eyes was a most welcome one. Christine stood leaning against the doorframe, watching me, the perfect picture of feminine beauty in her long maroon dress. Her blank expression did not bother me in the slightest, for any expression appeared exquisite when placed upon her lovely face. My arms dropped limply to my side, and for a moment, I could do nothing by stare at her with wide eyes and gaping mouth. Perfect. That was the only word to describe her. Christine was perfect and she was mine now. I did not own her heart, but one day… Surely she would learn to love me in time. _After all, arranged marriages have been taking place for years, and in some instances the bride and groom scarcely know each other before their wedding day, yet they learn to love one another._ My lips curved upward as I allowed my gaze to move freely over the woman who was to be my wife.**

"**You are looking quite charming this morning, my love," I said with a definite nod of approval. "I must say that that color is ideal for you." Then, moving quickly to the table, I pulled a chair back and gestured for her to sit, never allowing my eyes to leave her. "Please be seated. Your breakfast will be ready in a few moments."**

**Christine took her seat with apparent reluctance. Her silence was grating on my nerves, and the look of fear in her eyes was heart-wrenching. Ignoring the pangs of remorse within my throbbing heart, I sat down across from her. Somehow, I had to convince her that she was not in danger. I had to show her that I loved her… that I would not hurt her.**

"**You mustn't be afraid, Christine." I spoke in my most soothing voice. I reached for her hand, grasping it gently, but she pulled away instantly. My gaze lowered as I fought back tears of frustration. A sorrowful sigh passed from my lips as I allowed my eyes to meet with hers once more. "I will not harm you. I could _never_ do such a thing. As long as you are here with me, you and your little vicomte are in no danger…. You have no reason to keep looking over your shoulder…. I promise that no harm will come to you…. You see, my angel, I am not a ghost or phantom as so many believe. I am not even the half-mad genius that I have been dubbed. I am only Erik, a man who loves you with all of his heart and soul. Please believe me, Christine, when I say that you are the most important person in my life. You are my whole world."**

**I looked at her pleadingly, and I was about to go on when I smelled smoke. Her breakfast was burning! I stood hastily, spinning on my heel and rushing to the stove, muttering curses beneath my breath. In my mind, I could see the vicomte laughing at me.**

_Erik. So that's what his name is,_ I thought. _Erik._ I rolled that name round and round in my head as my eyes followed him around the kitchen. Erik. It was a nice name. A slight smile twitched on my lips. Even as upset as I was, I could see the humorous way in which he was trying to make breakfast. He certainly was no master in the art of cooking. Not knowing why, I rose and stood next to him, my hand extended for the cooking utensil.

"Let me," I said softly. Why on earth was I doing this? I stared straight into his eyes.

**My eyes locked with Christine's, and for several moments I could not move. I did not wish to move, not when I could stand there with her, savoring the sweet expression glistening in her eyes, a look of—I did not dare to guess what meaning lay behind the fervent gaze of those two cerulean eyes…. I would not endeavor to decipher it…. I would not give myself reason to build up more false hopes…. _Let me._ Those words would have normally been so insignificant, but today they seemed to carry a vast new wealth of meaning. And as if the sweet sound of her voice had not been enough to send my heart soaring, the look in her eyes was simply stunning.**

**Slowly, my gaze drifted from her eyes to the small hand which she had extended toward me. That hand was waiting for the wooden spatula that I held in my own hand. My head inclined slightly to one side as a smile crept over my lips. Then, moving slowly and cautiously so as not to startle her, I slipped the utensil into Christine's waiting palm, closing her hand over it, allowing my long fingers to linger on hers a moment more than necessary. When that was done, my eyes moved to meet with her blue ones once more. The smile had not disappeared from my lips, and I noticed the corners of her mouth turning in to a gentle smile as well. My pulse increased as I studied her face… her eyes… her little nose… her perfectly colored cheeks… her flawless completion… her lips…. Oh, those lips! One could tell merely by looking at them that they were soft and warm and moist…. How I longed to feel those soft, ruby lips on my own malformed mouth. A sweet, familiar sensation surged throughout my chest. This was what it meant to truly love someone…. I was sure of it….**

**There was a long pause. The only sound in the room seemed to be that of my hammering heart, which was pounding so loudly that Christine could surely hear it. I had to say something. Calming myself, I took a deep breath and then, taking a backward step, said the only words that I could think to say:**

"**Thank you." Truthfully, I did not know myself if my whispered words were meant to thank Christine for her offer to help with the cooking or if they were in gratitude for something more, something that I had seen deep in her eyes.**

He was trying to read my eyes, trying to understand what they were saying; and yet, I did not even know the reason for my own gaze. I knew what he was doing. Those prying eyes threatened to open the inmost part of my soul—something I did not want them to do. I turned hastily, feeling my face becoming flush, and busied myself with fixing breakfast.

For a few moments I worked in silence. Thinking. This was probably what I would be doing for the rest of my life, for I was Erik's now. Yes, I dreamed of making a meal for the man I loved… but not for him. The thought of belonging to Erik made me wonder: When were we going to be married? I shuddered inwardly at the word "married." But surely he wouldn't expect me to live here with him without first making me his wife…. He wouldn't make me live in that kind of disgrace. Would he? The thought bothered me so much that I decided to ask.

"When…?" I asked quietly. "When are… are we going to… be married?" There it was out.

**She had turned from me, not willing to look into my eyes. My heart ached. Perhaps Christine feared that I would see in her eyes the thoughts and yearnings of her innermost soul. Perhaps she feared that I would see the truth, that she did not love me. Yet, perhaps there was something truly wonderful waiting behind those eyes… something that she was hiding from me… something that she would not admit even to herself. Christine could not remain in that shell forever. I would find out her secret. I always found out.**

**As she busied herself with the cooking, I moved quietly to the table and took a seat. For several minutes, she worked in silence as I sat staring pensively at my long, bony fingers, entwining and releasing them repeatedly. In time, that action grew extremely dull. I lifted my eyes and instantly became enthralled with observing Christine. She moved about the kitchen with a natural grace. A slight smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I watched her. Apparently, she had disposed of my charred attempts at breakfast and was now fixing something else, although I was far too intent upon watching her to pay any attention to the food.**

**Then, out of the blue, Christine turned to me and spoke in a voice just above a whisper. I was startled by her sudden gesture but even more by the words which she spoke. _When would we be married?_ My eyes widened. My lips turned upward in a dazed expression of joy. My mouth went dry. My heart gave a leap and then began pounding almost audibly.**

"**Married…" I echoed, rising swiftly to my feet. "Married…. Oh Christine, you don't know how long I have waited to hear that question from your sweet lips." I moved to her side, feeling as though I was walking on air. Then taking her hand in mine I placed it against my throbbing chest, again staring deep into my beloved's eyes, hoping against hope that she would allow me into the ponderings of that beautiful heart. "We will be married," I said softly, "as soon as you like. Name the date, even today, and we two will become one." An all too familiar look of horror was coming over my angel's face. Noticing her expression of fear, I quickly released her hand. Her gaze fell to the floor.**

"**Oh, I see," I murmured, groaning inwardly. "Christine… please…" My words came out in little more than a broken whisper as my eyes prodded her face, urging her to look at me. "I will not force you, my love," I went on, my voice a bit stronger. "You will not be made to do anything that you do not wish to do. Do you understand? We will be married when you are ready and not a moment before."**

_When I am ready,_ I thought, my eyes on the floor. What was the point of putting off the inevitable? Oh… but Raoul…. Raoul! How could I do such a thing? Marrying Erik would forever banish the hope of someday being with Raoul. How could I? I took a quick glance at Erik. His eyes were sparkling with a light I had never seen before, and they commanded my gaze. Why should I stall? Our marriage would have to come about sooner or later. Erik was looking at me anxiously.

"Today," I said; my lips began to tremble, and tears welled up in my eyes, but I refused to let them roll down my face. "I did promise to be yours, and yours I will be." _If this is what I have to do to keep you from hurting Raoul, _I thought, _I will do it._

I tried to smile but the tears burned my eyes, and I tried to blink them back, but to no avail. My legs began to feel weak as I began to sob. I reached out, blind with tears for something to hold on to, and my hands found Erik's dressing gown. Holding on, I leaned against him, burying my face in his chest. I didn't care who he was now. All I wanted to do was cry.

**My arms were trembling beyond all control as they moved, seemingly of their own accord, to wrap around Christine's waist. I stared glassy-eyed at the opposite wall, for I could not bear to look at the woman in my arms. My heart was burning. I could not see her in tears knowing that I was the cause of her sorrow. Still, her tears soaked through my shirt, falling like daggers upon my heart. I should have been the happiest man on the face of this earth. After all, the love of my life was staying with me in my home, and she had promised only moments before that we would be married on that very day. Her words had left me speechless with ecstasy. Yet the sadness in her beautiful, blue eyes and those pitiful sobs had told me the truth that I did not wish to hear: Christine did not love me.**

**It had all happened so quickly that I scarcely knew what to do or say. Shivering and with tears in her eyes, Christine had sworn that she would be mine as she had promised on the night before, but it was obviously not her willful decision. She did not wish to marry me; instead, she wanted to spend her life with that boy. And now she was crying, weeping on my shoulder, although I did not know why. I was her tormenter, her captor. Why had she chosen to cry in my arms? Was she inflicting this torment upon me purposely? I glanced at her for only a moment, and one look assured me that my beloved was incapable of such cruelty. A single tear—the first of many—made its way down my cheek. I looked away instantly, fixing my gaze again upon the wall, but my action was too late; the tears had already begun to well in my eyes.**

**_Christine does not love me._ That thought echoed in my tortured mind a thousand times, sending a fresh flood of tears down my masked face with its every repetition. Still weeping silently, I pulled Christine's body closer to my own, taking comfort in its warmth and softness. The intoxicating sent of her hair invaded my nostrils, tormenting me, filling my heart and mind with dreams of what could never be mine. _Christine can never truly belong to me_, I thought. _Her heart will always be with the __vicomte__._ I scolded myself for the foolish dreams of love that I had entertained. _Christine can never love me._**

**A soft cry of anguish drew my attention to Christine once again. What a fool I was. Why was I weeping for my own loss when the woman I loved was in pain? For the first time that I could recall since I had been her angel, she was coming to me for help. I should be comforting her. I cursed myself silently for my selfishness and then made an effort to speak.**

"**Christine…" I said softly, one hand running lightly through her lush curls as the other stroked her lower back in a soothing manner. "Please do not cry, my angel. I love you. I know…" I paused, choking back what threatened to be a rather loud sob. "I know that you do not love me." Even those words were painful to speak aloud, but I had to say something. I went on in hopes of consoling my beloved. "I was a fool to ever think that you did love me. I am not worthy of you, my darling, but I do love you, and I always will. That is why you are here, Christine. But I have told you that you are not required to marry me now."**

**At these words, I pulled back ever so slightly, lifting Christine's chin with one hand and looking down into her heavenly eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, as was my own.**

"**I will wait for you as long as it is necessary. I am learning about love, my darling. I admit that it is new to me… a foreign concept that I know I am only beginning to understand…. But I know that I love you. If you truly wish to be married today, then I will be overjoyed. But if you should choose to reconsider and put the wedding off until a later date, I swear that I have no cause to be upset with you."**

**There was a pause, an unnerving silence. I attempted to hide my anxiousness as I gazed down into my love's eyes, but that effort was a fruitless one. Dropping my hand to my side, I inhaled deeply—again smelling her sweet perfume—and then exhaled on a long sigh. My eyes scanned her tear-stained face for any sign of what her answer might be. Then her head was buried in my shirt once again, and again she was weeping. I was growing weary of waiting for her answer, but I would not pressure Christine by asking again. Instead, I allowed my arms to encircle her waist once more, drawing her small frame as near as possible. As I held Christine, I began to sway slightly, subconsciously humming the reoccurring melody from the piece that was to be our wedding mass. Her tears had begun to subside when my humming had ceased, and I waited for her to speak, silently cradling her in my arms.**

I cried in his arms, too upset to speak. What was I to do? _Oh Father, how I wish you were here. _Through my tears I could hear Erik humming. He was rocking slowly, trying to comfort me. What comfort could he give? The gentle song soothed my anxiety, and my tears slowly abated.

What was I to do? My head ached from confusion. Yet, from somewhere deep inside me, a voice seemed to say, "Follow your heart." I let go of Erik and sat at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. Follow my heart. But there was nothing of my heart left to follow. It had been shattered. I no longer felt anything. A dull pain had taken the place of my heart. Neither road was better. Both would lead to a marriage.

I turned to Erik, ready to give an answer. His masked face held the traces of tears, and his eyes… they seemed to hold the sadness of the world. Yes, I could see that he loved me. He would do anything for me. A thought entered my mind. What if someday he would decide to let me go? If I married him, all hope would be gone forever… but if I waited… My spirit began to lighten, and I almost smiled.

"I would rather wait," I said, with hope in my voice.

"**Perhaps that would be best," I replied solemnly.**

**My heart gave a few quick, convulsing beats, and then returned to its normal rhythm. I nodded slowly at a loss for further words, suppressing a sigh of disenchantment. The vision of having our wedding today had been a wonderful dream while it had lasted. I should have left well enough alone; now she wished to postpone our marriage. But it would have to come about someday, and she knew it.**

**Momentarily, an unforeseen wave of relief washed over my mind. The putting off of our wedding was not necessarily a bad thing. It would give Christine and me the chance to get to know each other better; perhaps she would even come to love me before we were to be married. And as much as I longed to have her as near as possible, I did not exactly relish the thought of forcing Christine to accept my expressions of affection on our wedding night. Worse yet was the thought of our sleeping in separate beds on what should have been our first night together.**

**The subtle smile on Christine's lips only served to confuse me further. _What is making her so damn happy?_ I though as I moved to the table and slowly lowered my thin form into an empty chair. It was almost as if she was plotting something, some way of escape. Her smile had nothing to do with our imminent marriage. I knew that much, for Christine despised me. I would discover her plan. If she and the vicomte intended to run away together then they _would_ be stopped. My long fingers tapped out a reoccurring pattern on the tabletop as again I studied her face, my brow furrowing in contemplation. She was thinking something, but I could not discern what it was. Christine was watching me almost fearfully.**

"**Why?" I demanded suddenly, looking directly into her eyes with blazing intensity. "Why do you wish to wait? Only a moment ago you seemed willing enough to be married today." I reached for both of her hands, swiftly enclosing them in my own in a hold that was gentle yet firm enough that she could not pull away. "Tell me, what made you change your mind. If Chagny is coming back, you had better think of a way to warn him. I have warned him myself to stay away. I will not have that fool vicomte coming between us. No one, nothing will ever separate us again, my sweet Christine."**

Those dark eyes focused on me piercingly, and the grip on my hands tightened. I felt as if he could see right through me. I was becoming angry. _One minute he says he'll be happy with whatever I want, and when I say 'later,' he demands to know why._ I met his questioning eyes with an icy stare.

With painful slowness, his gaze broke down my confidence and my heart beat faster. Surely he could read my mind the way he was looking at me. I dropped my eyes to the floor, and I tried to get free, but he wouldn't let me go.

"Because I think that it is best that we wait," I answered somewhat timidly. "You said you will not make me marry you until I am ready." My eyes pleaded with him. "But, if it makes you upset, I will be willing to do whatever you want." I had never told such a tremendous lie. Something told me he did not believe those words. Faking a smile, I added, "We can marry today if that is what you want."


	3. Anything but Your Tears

Chapter Three

Anything But Your Tears

**She was lying. Christine did not want to marry me today or ever. Her tremulous smile was as false as her words, her offer to become my bride upon my immediate command, should I give it. Yet the pleading look in her eyes somehow left me powerless to resist her. Silently, I wondered to myself if Christine knew the power that she had over my captive heart. Surely she did not, or she would have used it more freely to her advantage. No, I corrected myself; she would not do such a thing.**

**My eyes softened as I loosened my grip on her hands and then carefully released them. I would not force her to become my wife. She would not truly be mine if I were coercing her; she would not love me as long as she saw me as her master. A prisoner, a slave was hardly what I wanted. I had told her that I could and would wait, and I would simply have to be patient, although I knew that that would be far easier said than done.**

"**That will not be necessary," I responded. I stood slowly to my feet, watching her every move to see what effect my words had upon her. "You are right, my dear. I did say that our wedding would take place when you are ready, and I will not go back on my word. If you think it best that we wait to be married, we will wait for as long as you like."**

**She seemed pleased with my answer… too pleased. I did not know if I should be angry with her, or if I should plead for her love, or simply leave her alone. I only knew that Christine did not return my affections, and at that moment, it seemed that there was nothing that I could ever do to change that fact. This feeling of helplessness was exceedingly frustrating. Tears of sorrow and irritation mingled and welled up within me, threatening to come pouring down my face. I fought them back with all of my might. I could not cry in front of her. It was her love I desired, not her pity. However, despair was rapidly overcoming me, though I attempted to hide it. I had to get away as soon as possible.**

"**Forgive me," I said, choking back those perpetual tears. "I did not mean to upset you, my love. I am sorry." Lowering my gaze, I realized that I was still wearing my dressing gown and nightshirt. My attire seemed the perfect excuse to leave the room and not return for quite some time. The thought of breakfast no longer appealed to me. I lifted my eyes to look into hers once more and spoke softly, "If you will excuse me, I must change." My words were a bit more hurried than usual, although I somehow managed to keep my tone level. "I hope that you do not mind eating alone this morning. I will not be having any breakfast. I am afraid that I have completely lost my appetite. If you need anything, Christine, do not hesitate to ask. I will be in my study." I gestured toward the small room adjacent to the main room containing my organ. "But please, do knock before you enter."**

**With a quick bow, I returned hastily to my room. I managed to keep my tears at bay as I changed into a loose fitting white shirt and comfortable pair of dress pants and then moved on to my study. Once I had closed the curtain behind me, I stepped to the corner where I kept all of my sketches. Numerous drawings of Christine hung across the wall along with my many architectural sketches. I studied them for a moment, wishing that they were perfect, that I could capture her lovely face on paper, as it would be forever engrained upon my soul.**

**As I looked over the most recent of my sketches, I removed my mask, laying it on the desk before me. In my mind's eye, I could see Christine drawing back in terror at the sight of my unmasked face. Each of the drawings seemed to shrivel with fear before my cursed disfigurement. I shook my head vigorously, but I could not seem to rid my mind of that vision of my Christine. She was afraid of me, and fear was the farthest thing possible from love. My eyes began to overflow with tears. I took hold of the edge of one drawing, clinging to it as if I would never let go, as if somehow it would keep her with me. My knees became weak, and when they could no longer support my skeletal body, I sunk slowly into my red velvet chair, covering my face with both hands. My shoulders shook as I began to weep. I could not stop my tears; there was no reason to hold them back any longer.**

"**Christine…" I whispered, gazing blindly thought my tears at the many images of my beloved. "My dear sweet Christine… I am so sorry…. I would beg your forgiveness, but even that does not seem to help…. I did not mean to upset you…. I never wanted to frighten or hurt you…. I love you, my darling…. Forgive me… please…. I only wish… for you to love me… for myself…." At the close of that broken phrase, I fell from the chair, crumpling into a sobbing heap on the floor. What had I done? What was I to do now? How on earth could I win her? I could never live without her now. She was my whole world. "Oh Christine…"**

I watched Erik leave the room, and I stared after him. I could tell by his expression that he did not believe me. _Oh Raoul, it might be a long time before I see you again_. I knew at certain times, Erik would do anything for me. _Maybe..._ Ideas began to form in my head... But no, I was never a manipulator, and I couldn't be one now. That reminded me of Carlotta. She was a manipulator. She repulsed me. Waiting would be the best thing._ Someday, someday…_

My thoughts were interrupted by the smell of burning food. Hastily I turned the stove off and began cleaning up the kitchen. Breakfast was the last thing on my mind right now. My thoughts wandered back to Carlotta. She would probably star in some other opera and gain back her audience. I felt my chest tighten. The crowds that once cheered for me would again cheer for her. No, that could not happen. More than anything, I wanted to sing. How could I though? To the world, I was missing, or perhaps dead. Raoul... I knew almost nothing could keep him from me. He might get the police…. He might try to find me…. In the process, Erik would kill him. A wave of anguish passed over me. _Raoul, please don't do anything…. Please wait. I'll be with you yet._

Leaving the now cleaned kitchen, I wondered what I should do now. I looked around. The numerous candles flickered warmly, casting shadows everywhere, creating a mysterious atmosphere. Under different circumstances, this place would seem beautiful, but now it seemed dark and confining. Erik's music manuscripts lay scattered all over the organ and on the floor. There was nothing else to do, so I bent down to pick up a stack of papers when a sound caught my ear. It was coming from behind the curtain. It sounded like… like crying. My blood ran cold, and I unknowingly shivered. It was Erik. He was crying. I stood in front of the curtain, listening. The sobs seemed to drive themselves into my heart like daggers. _Don't... I can bear anything but your tears_. Pulling back the red velvet, I peered into the semi-darkness. He was on the floor. Tears welled up in my eyes. Seeing him in agony tore my soul like paper. His tears had a hypnotizing affect on me, and going to his side, I dropped next to him on the floor.

My own tears were now flowing down my face, and I didn't notice his mask was missing. Laying a hand on his shoulder, I whispered, "Erik, please… don't cry. I said I would stay here. I will never leave you." I shocked myself with my words. _What on earth made me say that? _It was him, his crying; it was doing something to me. "It's going to be alright. I'm here." I sang softly, "Anywhere you go let me go too…" _Now where did that come from? _I tried to make myself think clearly, but I couldn't. All I could think about was Erik. He needed me.

**I was crying so fiercely that I did not hear the soft rustling of the curtain as Christine slipped into the room; nor did I hear her delicate footsteps as she moved to my side and then sat beside me on the floor. It was only the touch of her hand upon my shoulder that alerted me to her presence. Normally I would have pulled away in an instant, hiding my face and whimpering like a wounded animal, but her words served to ease the painful throbbing in my chest. For the first time in my life, I felt that I could trust someone. She would never leave me…. Everything would be alright…. Oh, the tenderness with which she spoke my name! And then she sang. She sang only one line, but her voice was soft, and she sang the soothing words of a love song.**

"**Don't… stop…" I pleaded between sobs. "Please… go on…"**

**To my great delight, she sang on. The sound of her voice began to calm my shattered nerves. My tears had begun to subside. Although they had not vanished entirely, I was now weeping partially for joy and not completely out of sorrow. Carefully shielding the right side of my face from view, I crawled to her, laying my head in her lap and clinging to her legs. I buried the horrifically distorted half of my head in the soft folds of her skirt, weeping and moaning in turns. My heart felt as though it might burst. So much seemed to be happening in so little time. Her words of devotion had utterly overcome me, and I could not manage to speak. I only wished to remain as I was… for her to hold me and console me…. This was peace… and joy… and love.**

My song came to an end. I sat there silently running my fingers caressingly through Erik's thin hair, like a mother comforting her frightened child. Tears slid slowly down my face. His moans tortured my soul and made it shudder. _He can't go on like this. _Something inside me would break if he didn't stop.

"Erik please, I am here with you. Please don't cry."

**Soft teardrops fell lightly on my face, mingling with my own in a gentle stream. Christine was crying… crying for me…. The touch of her little fingers smoothing my hair was like nothing that I had ever known before. It felt so right to have her near. My vision was blurred by tears as I looked up at my beloved. The look in her eyes was more than I could bear, and my sobs began afresh, although she had told me not to cry anymore. I almost did not want to stop, for I knew that if I did this beautiful moment would be destroyed. She would have no reason to comfort me if I were not weeping.**

**It was at that moment that I realized the tremendous power that my tears gave me; Christine would do anything to keep me from crying, although I did not know why. As long as I was in tears, she would hold me, touch me, and I could imagine that she loved me. Yet her voice had quavered as though her heart might break if I did not stop at once. I could not bear to hurt her. Although I was enjoying this treatment immensely, it would have to end. The last of my tears trickled onto her gown. I truly doubt that I would have had any more tears left to cry had I wished to continue. I let out one last feeble moan, and then everything was still.**

**Neither of us stirred for several minutes. I loathed the thought of moving my head from her lap; however, I did not wish for Christine to make the first move. If anyone were to break this sweet, tender moment, it would be me. I raised my head ever so slightly and pressed the palm of my right hand firmly against my face. Then, using my left hand to thrust myself upward, I stood.**

**Although I kept my back to her, I could feel Christine's eyes on me as I moved to the table where I had left my mask and carefully fastened it in place. I turned to see her watching me with her usual curiosity. My heart leapt, and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. No one could be more beautiful… more perfect…. There was a loud and steady pounding in my chest as I moved toward her. I could feel my breathing growing heavy. With one last soundless step, I was standing over her. Slowly, I extended one hand toward her.**

"**Christine…" My voice was little more than a low whisper. I hesitated to speak at all. Words seemed so pathetic at a time like this. What could I say to keep that look from fading from her eyes? "Thank you…. I am gravely sorry to have disturbed you with my tears. Are you alright, my dear?" I looked intently into her cobalt eyes, my open palm still waiting for hers.**

Hesitating slightly, I took his outstretched hand, and he helped me up. I smiled faintly. He looked at me with concern.

"Yes, thank you. I'm fine." We gazed at each other for a few moments._ What is he thinking?_ Then, unnerved by his eyes, I turned away. Sketches lay scattered on the floor. Sketches of… _me. _I frowned. _If he loves me that much, why won't he let me go? _Ignoring Erik, I picked up the pieces of paper one by one. Each was more beautiful that the last. He was an amazing artist; there was no doubt about that. Some were architectural, but most were portraits of me. My irritation increased. I turned toward Erik angrily.

"Why?" I demanded, my lower lip quivering. I fought back the impending tears. "Why? If you love me so much, why do you keep me here?"

"**How can you ask such a thing of me?" I said, forcing back the anger that her sudden demand had evoked. If there was one thing that was certain to call forth my wrath, it was the thought of being challenged. And yet I looked at her sorrowfully, severely grieved by her question. It was a query that I had not dared to answer even in my own mind. But Christine had asked it unashamedly, and her very presence—the firmly set expression on her face, the look in her eyes, her queen-like stance—demanded a reply.**

"**I do not release you," I stated, steadily approaching her, "because it would be a sacrilege to do so. You are a goddess, Christine, and it is my duty to worship you in this vast shrine to the art of music, an art which you alone have glorified before all of Paris. You have shown them what true music is… what it means to hear the voice of an angel from heaven." By this time, I had circled her once and stopped just behind her. We stood mere inches apart. I could see that Christine was about to speak, but I quickly silenced her, placing the long fingers of one hand over her lips. "I have not finished, my love," I said decisively. Most reluctantly, my hand dropped from her soft lips. We were so close, and yet it seemed that we were not close enough. I could hear her rapid breathing as my arms wrapped tightly around her waist, closing the minute distance between our bodies in a split second. "I do not send you away, Christine, because I love you… I need you… I want you… and I cannot live without you."**

Something electric passed between us as our bodies touched. It left me weak, and I did not try to escape his embrace. My heart beat so rapidly that I couldn't speak.

**Christine could feel it too, this strange fire that was arising within our souls, threatening to consume us together in the intensity of its blaze. I knew that she had been touched by the same flames of passion, for she relaxed in my arms, succumbing almost willingly. Both of us were still for a moment, daring neither to move nor speak. Words were not needed at a time like this.**

**I reached down with one hand and carefully grasped Christine's tiny hand, placing it on my left cheek, moving it over my face in a slow, caressing movement. As my hand returned to her waist, her fingers continued to stroke the unscarred half of my face, perhaps unconsciously. A blissful smile spread over my lips, and I leaned my head against her hand, reveling in the softness and gentility of her caress.**

**Then, burying the remainder of my face in Christine's velvet tresses, I allowed my hands to slip from around her waist, gliding them lightly down her body. They trailed over the soft fabric of her dress partially down her legs, and then traveled slowly upward, coming to rest at last on her breasts. A low moan of intermingled pleasure and longing escaped my lips as my fingers traced freely over the flawless contours of her body. My pulse raced, and my breathing became quite heavy as a gentle throbbing began in my lower body. Our hearts beat as one in an almost deafening rhythm. I could no longer think clearly. My mind was entirely taken over by desires of fulfilling this new insatiable passion. _I love her. I need her. I do not wish to wait. I want her now. Now!_ The battle to keep myself in check was almost useless at this point. My iron-willed self-control was rapidly slipping away, and for a moment, I did not care. But that moment quickly passed.**

**My eyes flashed opened suddenly to the feeling of a hand on my mask. I had unknowingly lifted my head from Christine's curls and found myself once again leaning against her hand as her fingers moved over the soft leather covering. Although she gave no sign of removing it, I knew that the mask could not stay on forever. In truth, I did not want it to. One day she would have to remove it again; she would do it willingly and with full knowledge of what lay beneath the façade. When she truly loved me for myself, the mask would no longer be necessary. Until that time, I would have to be patient, though patience was hardly my one of my strong points.**

**With a twinge of reluctance, I pulled my hands away from her delicate form, letting one fall at my side while I used the other to remove my beloved's hand from my masked face. I backed slowly away from her and turned to gather my sketches. Although I could not see her, I knew that the amorous expression was surely fading from her eyes. The spell was broken as soon as our bodies were apart. It had been wonderful while it lasted. I studied the drawings, not willing to look into Christine's eyes. Then I rose, struck by a sudden idea.**

"**Christine my love, I believe it is time that you stand as a model for your first portrait." I spoke softly, placing the drawings carefully on the table. A moment of silence passed before I turned to look into her eyes inquisitively. "I would like it very much if you would pose for me while I draw you," I repeated my request, "…that is, if you do not mind." She was staring at me as if I had gone completely insane. I didn't know what to make of her expression. Walking slowly to her side, I reached for her hand and pressed it gently between my two hands. It was only then that I realized that I was trembling. Again, I stared into her eyes, attempting to steady my shaking hands. "Christine?"**

I held my breath as his hands caressed my body. New feelings and sensations were awakening inside me. I was in a world of ecstasy. Any sorrows now fully forgotten in the rapture of his body against mine. Nothing could have torn me away from him. His head was buried in my neck, and I could tell his breathing was getting heavier as his touch became more passionate. A chill ran down my spine, and my own breath came rapidly. My body ached for me to turn it loose and let him have what he wanted, but I couldn't…. I couldn't… yet I was getting weaker… weaker…. I _had _to stop myself… somehow….

Suddenly, Erik let me go. All sensations now almost instantly vanished. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. If he had not released me, I might have gone too far… _past the point of no return…. _Startled, I glanced at Erik, whose back was turned to me. He didn't seem affected by the voice. _Where did that come from? _I blinked a few times and shook my head. _I must be hearing things._

My thoughts were broken by his touch on my hand. _What did he say? Oh, my portrait._

"Whatever you wish." I smiled slightly. The affects of a few minutes ago were now completely gone. _Raoul! Oh, Raoul, I'm sorry…. _I couldn't let that happen again.


	4. Reverie

Chapter Four

Reverie

**_Whatever I wish?_ There were so many things that I wished for, and I knew very well that Christine would not be willing to grant them if I had the audacity to ask her. I shook my head, silently cursing myself for the thoughts that were playing through my mind in rapid succession, returning my mind to the task at hand.**

"**Yes, that is what I wish," I told her with all the equanimity that I could muster. I guided her hurriedly to the center of the room, quickly withdrawing my hand from hers the moment that she was in place. "I wish to draw your portrait. The lighting is best here." As I helped to adjust her into a suitable pose, I was well aware of the fact that my hands were still trembling and that beads of sweat had begun to break out on my palms and torso. Those feelings had left Christine; that much was evident. However, I was still feeling their effects blatantly. I could only hope that she did not hate me for my actions a few minutes before. Keeping my gaze lowered, I collected a few candles and arranged them on various objects near the spot where she stood.**

**At last, I took a seat—drawing pad and lead in hand—and allowed myself to look at her. One glance was all that was necessary. As my eyes ran up the perfection of her form in meticulous scrutiny, my heart began to pound wildly, and all the effects of a few minutes before returned in full force. It was then that I realized my grave mistake. What was I doing? In drawing Christine's portrait, I would be observing her for several hours, studying every detail, every curve of her exquisite body. That was the last thing that I needed to be doing at the moment… not after the flame that I had so imprudently ignited. Forcing my eyes to the floor, I swallowed hard. This was insane_. Insane!_ The distance between us was worth nothing against the powerful longings that I had fostered. I was only fanning the flames by drawing her, studying her. But I could not back down now.**

**Gradually, my eyes traveled up to her face. The subtle smile on Christine's lips caught me somewhat off guard. Surely she could not have enjoyed those wonderful moments as much as I did. Perhaps… But by now she had already put all thoughts of that sweet pleasure behind her, for as I looked at her, her eyes showed only regret and a vague appearance of panic. I must put those thoughts aside as well. She was not yet ready. There was something else in those eyes… something that made me think of that boy. Christine was thinking of him. The very thought of Chagny quickly banished any remaining effects of the time that I had held Christine. She was still in love with that boy. Letting out a weary sigh, I began sketching furiously with cool, professional indifference.**

There I stood with nothing to do but think. _What is Raoul doing right now? _Whatever he was doing, I wanted to be with him. For what seemed like hours, I stood still while Erik drew. Soon I became fatigued with my position and I spoke.

"Are you almost done? I'm becoming tired."

"**Tired is it, Darling?" I questioned, raising one eyebrow slightly as I glanced up from my feverish work. Christine did look a bit fatigued. "We mustn't have that, now must we? I could tell you that I will hurry, but after all, you cannot rush art, my angel."**

**My gaze returned to the large sheet of paper in my lap holding a full-length drawing of Christine and I smiled, lovingly stroking the paper. This drawing represented all of my dreams of Christine, as did my other similar works. Those sketches of my beloved would never hurt me, as _she_ could, by loving someone else. They belonged fully and completely to me, for they were the creations of my imagination. I quickly brought my mind back to the present, forcing myself to avoid the blissful dream-like world in which I so enjoyed to live… a world where only Christine and I existed… a world where music reigned and love was triumphant and everlasting. I hated to think of what—no, of _whom—_she had been dreaming for those hours of drawing while I fantasized on the subject of our future. My shoulders stiffened.**

"**The sketch will be finished in a little while, I think." Without another word, I returned to shading the lower portion of her skirt, my eyes drifting repeatedly between Christine and her portrait. After a few minutes, I was quite subdued again. I could spend the entire day producing sketch after sketch if she would only allow me to do so. The work relaxed me, acting as a massage to my weary mind and pulling me into a sweet state of euphoria. However, I saw that Christine was growing increasingly uncomfortable. "You may move your upper body," I told her calmly, "but please take care that your skirt stays just as it is. If you move it in any way, the shadows will reverse and I will be required to begin the entire sketch again. If there is anything that you need, I will be more than willing to get it for you…. Some water perhaps?"**

I stared at him in cold silence. I didn't want water. I wanted to get this over with. Not only was I tired, the fact that his eyes were constantly searching up and down my body, made me uncomfortable. His gaze seemed to penetrate right through my dress.

I sighed. It must be the afternoon by now. The only way to tell the time of day in this place was by clock. There were no windows to let in the warm, bright sunlight. Would I ever again feel the comforting rays of the sun on my face? Surely sometime he would let me return the surface for some fresh air. There was no chance he would allow me to go alone. Even if he did, he would follow me closely. There was no escaping him. I didn't think anything but death could separate Erik from me.

My legs ached from standing for such a long time. _Why isn't he finished yet? _I became increasingly irritated. My worn-out nerves, tired from the past events, could not hold up much longer. When getting a portrait done, there is nothing to do but stand there and think. I was sick of thinking… sick of thinking of Raoul and what he might be doing right now. If I thought anymore, I would go crazy. I had my fill of this. I didn't care if he was done or not. _I _was done. I sat myself wearily in a nearby chair.

"I can't stand up anymore. You'll have to finish your drawing another time. I've had all I can take." I looked at him with indifference.

**I looked up suddenly at the soft rustling sound of her dress as she took a seat, moving before I could voice a single word of protest. I watched her in wide-eyed silence for several moments, dumbstruck by her deliberate act of disobedience. Christine had never defied me before. Why would she sit now when I had explicitly told her that I would be done in a few minutes? Now my drawing was spoiled. She had done it to spite me. I was hurt by her willful rebellion, and I allowed my eyes to show my distress, knowing that she hated to see sorrow in my eyes. Then anger began to set in.**

"**_You_ can't stand up anymore? _You've_ had all you can take?" I questioned sharply. "Tell me Christine, are _you_ the only one who you ever think about? Well, _you_ have spoiled my drawing! I cannot finish it another time because it is ruined! Do you understand me? Ruined!" A scarlet mist swam before my eyes. My heart thundered, but this time with emotions entirely different from the ones that I had experienced that morning.**

**Tearing the picture in two, I stood and approached her, furiously casting the useless paper aside. "How dare you defy me, you ungrateful little wench! You had better be glad that I love you, though sometimes that very fact makes me question my sanity. Not many confront me and live, you know. You wanted to sit, did you?" I growled. "Well, my love, if you like that chair so damn much then I will not stop you from sitting in it. In fact, you can sit there for the rest of the day for all I care."**

**Pressing one hand against her thin midsection, I held Christine to the chair. Our faces were only a whisper apart as I stared into her eyes, allowing my breath to pass over her face as I reached to the floor and gathered up the long rope that was normally used to tie back the curtain, the golden cord which now lay coiled on the floor like a serpent poised to strike. At the sight of the rope, she struggled, but not nearly hard enough to make the fight difficult in the slightest. In a few moments I had her securely fastened to the chair, the rope encircled about her body several times and her hands tied behind her back. I stepped back and admired my work with a slight nod of satisfaction.**

"**Are you happy now, my love?" A bitter smile crossed my lips. "I do hope you do not tire of that position as quickly as your last one. After all, it is a comfortable chair, isn't it?"**

"Perfect." I sneered, my voice filled with sarcasm and anger. "I would take this comfort before any comfort of yours." Looking at him with a gaze of steel, I added, "You can tie me up, but you'll never tie my heart." This being said, I stared straight past him, biting down on my lower lip to keep myself from crying. Then muttering under my breath:

"I'll never love you."

**Christine was staring past me as if I did not exist. I had isolated her, turned her heart cold to my love, but my rage and unyielding pride would not allow me to admit this inevitable defeat. I had heard her murmured words, and she knew it. She had intended that I hear them. They were a threat, a pitiful threat, and therefore they won her no sympathy. Her heartless comment only intensified my furry.**

**Letting out a caustic laugh, I tightened the cord that held her in place. Then I began to circle the chair, watching her every move.**

"**Oh, you will Christine," I corrected her self-assuredly, although I scarcely had reason to believe my own statement. I continued to move around her place of captivity, my circles of advancement growing smaller successively. "I promise that you will learn. It is only a matter of time, a matter of how quickly you learn to love me."**

**In a short time, I discontinued my pacing movement, coming to stand in front of her and looking down into her eyes. Those cobalt spheres that had once been filled with such pity now glowed with the fire of hatred, yet in spite of her loathing for me, I could not help but think how beautiful her eyes were. However, all thoughts of her loveliness quickly faded. The longer I looked at her, the more I was convinced that there was something triumphant in her gaze. Christine knew that she had won. She may have won this battle, but I would win the next.**

"**You _will_ learn to love me, Christine!" I snarled. With that assurance, I spun on my heel and strode hastily away from her, thrusting back the curtain that stood in my way. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. I knew why she was so confident. I stopped instantly and turned to her again.**

"**And I will _never_ let you free," I told her in an austere tone, stepping back into the small room. "Only death can part us, my love. I know the reason that you decided to put off our wedding. You see, you can never hide anything from your Erik. Somehow, you have convinced yourself that one day I will come to you, begging and scraping on my knees for your love, and you will refuse. Then I will be helpless and forced to say, 'I love you so much, Christine, that I have decided to send you back to Chagny so that he can marry you, and he can take you far, far away, and I will never see you again.'" I shook my head as angry tears began to form in my eyes. "Somehow in that infantile, impractical mind of yours you still think that life is a fairytale and you, the perfect little princess, will live happily ever after, that you and your little prince will be together forever. Well, my dear, I am truly sorry to shatter that foolish reverie, but life is not a fairytale. Life is hell on earth!"**

**That said, I left the room; there was nothing more to discuss. I closed the curtain behind me, not wishing to even glance at Christine anymore for quite some time. Letting out a heavy sigh, I sunk into the divan and began to massage my temples in slow methodic circles. I had a pounding headache. That was quite usual. I was accustomed to such headaches whenever I had undergone one of my fits of rage.**

**In a few minutes, I had managed to alleviate the sharp pain in my head, though nothing could banish the pain in my heart. The soft sound of weeping echoed in my ears. I would not hear her crying now. Somehow, I had to block out that sound. I rose and moved quickly to my organ, selecting the one remaining score of _Don Juan Triumphant_. The fierce melodies and abnormal harmonies of my music soon filled the entire house, enveloping me in their familiar caress, shielding me from the grief of Christine's tears.**

Tears of anger, and weariness rolled down my cheeks. His words cut me sharply, and even now I could still hear them ringing in my ears._ "Only death can part us..." _My mind refused to believe what my heart knew to be true. He would always be here... inside my mind.

The sound of the organ reached my ears. How could he play when he knew he had hurt me? More tears of frustration blinded my vision. I hated him.

**It wasn't working. My playing had always seemed to take my mind off of anything that I wished for it to in the past. Yet it seemed now that even if I played the clock round I could not expel her voice from my mind. _"I'll never love you…. I'll never love you…. I'll never love you…."_ I heard it over and over again until I thought that I would be driven out of my mind. Although I was playing quite loudly, I could distinctly hear the sound of weeping somewhere in the back of my mind. Those tears were like knives to my heart. What had I done? Why was it that I always seemed to hurt those who I loved most?**

**I glanced down at my hands and found that I could not play another note. My fingers refused to move with their usual dexterity; they were worthless and numb, nearly as numb as my mind felt at the moment. My heart, however, was far from being anesthetized. It pounded out a painfully irregular rhythm, echoing the grief and regret of my very soul. A few horrendously sour chords sounded beneath my fingers before I rose in a flood of hot, frustrated tears.**

**As I stepped away from my beloved instrument, the toe of my boot hit sharply against something, and then a small stack of papers skittered across the floor. I bent to pick up the score almost mechanically, gathering the sheets carelessly. A pang of sheer anguish shot through my entire being. Through my tears, I could read the title; it was the manuscript that was to have been our wedding mass. I had done my best to please Christine, telling her that I would wait until she was ready for our wedding. Now it was doubtful that she would ever be ready. All of my attempts to win her heart were futile; they only seemed to drive her further away. I cursed myself in every language that I knew, not caring if Christine did hear me. Could I do nothing right? My knees gave way, and I sunk to the floor, drawing the score to my throbbing chest as the burning droplets of sorrow continued to pour down my sunken cheeks.**

**It was some time later that I stood to my feet, wiping away the last of my tears. I knew very well what I had to do and it would not be easy. With labored steps, I drug myself back to the room where Christine waited. I listened warily at the curtain. Then, hearing only silence on the other side, I gave three short taps on the stone wall. There was no reply. Alarm washed over me. Perhaps she had escaped… somehow… and I did not even notice.**

"**Christine…?" My voice came out in a feeble whisper as I drew the curtain aside and glanced tentatively toward the chair. A short sigh passed from my lips. She was sitting just as I had left her, fastened immovably to that chair, her hands behind her back, her eyes livid with hatred for me, her captor. I approached her silently, keeping my eyes fixed upon my feet. In a moment, I stood only a short distance away. Swallowing my pride, I lowered myself to the floor, crawling like a repentant dog at his master's feet.**

"**I am sorry," I whispered meekly, staring unseeingly in the direction of her face. A moment later, when at last my eyes were able to focus on hers, I went on. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Christine. I was wrong to behave as I did. I was wrong to say those things to you. I did not mean what I said about my love for you. Loving you is the sanest thing I have ever done. It is only the fact that you do not love me that is driving me slowly to the point of madness…. I know… that is not your fault either…. Oh Christine… don't you see? I cannot help but love you!" I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and then slowly exhaling. A moment later, when my tears were sufficiently restrained, I opened my eyes. I could not cry again. "And I was wrong to tie you up…" I added wearily. "My temper can be explosive. Sometimes… often, I let it get out of hand. For your sake, I will try to work on that."**

**Sighing mournfully, I stood and began to untie the rope that held her to the chair. I moved slowly, careful not to hurt her again as I had when those knots were formed. There, she was free. I stepped wordlessly to the curtain and tied it back with the long cord. Then I turned to Christine. She was going to stand, to walk away without a single word to me. She would lock herself away in her room for hours… perhaps for days. I stepped swiftly in front of her, holding up one hand in a gesture that forbade her to move, yet my eyes had lost all traces of their usual commanding stare. Instead, they pleaded with her.**

"**No… please stay…" I begged. A single tear rolled down my unmasked left cheek. "Please…. I am _sorry_, Christine…. What more do you want to hear? Please say that you forgive me…. I can't live knowing that while you are with me in body, I have forever driven away your heart. I cannot live if you are to hate me…" Tears seeped unmercifully from my eyes. I could not control them. Once again, I lowered my thin frame to Christine's feet, burying my face in her skirt and grasping at her legs as I wept tears of remorse and love and—yes, I could admit it now, although only to myself—fear of her rejection.**

At the very sight of him, I tensed. Those moments of anger had gradually given away to fear. I was afraid of what he might do next. Nothing on earth would let me show that fear, and I stared at him in stony silence. Slowly he approached me, and I held my breath... waiting. To my surprise, he knelt to the floor and crawled the rest of the way.

His upturned face showed the lines of sorrow and his words began to melt the ice I felt around my heart. _No. _I thought. _Don't be like this. _He acted as if he were about to cry at any moment. I was more terrified of his tears than of anything else he could do. His crying had some sort of hypnotic effect on me, and I was helpless against such a force.

_No. You can't cry. _Then an idea made its way into my head. What if he knew how his crying affected me and was acting like this on purpose? This thought made me clench my fists in anger. This was lower than any form of abuse. No. I couldn't, mustn't give in. I tried to ignore his pleas and stare blankly into his eyes, but I felt myself slipping… losing control. I couldn't give him the satisfaction…

He untied me. Rubbing my wrists, I rose to leave, but he stayed me with his hand. I saw a lone tear slide down his face. _I must stay in control. I can't let his tears bother me. _To my dismay, he fell, crying at my feet, begging me to forgive him. I tried my best to resist the force that was overcoming me, but I couldn't. Sinking to the floor, and cradling his head in my hands, I whispered:

"It's alright. You're forgiven."


	5. La Vie en Rose

Chapter Five

La Vie en Rose

**A shaky sigh of unmerited reprieve passed from my lips as the tears continued to slip down my face.**

"**Thank you," I replied faintly, unable to say anything more.**

**It was so good to be forgiven. I felt as if an impossibly heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Christine was holding my head in her delicate little hands, cradling it in a soothing manner. As I gazed at her through tear-blurred eyes, I saw a sweet smile on her lips and a gentle glow in her cerulean eyes. She wanted to comfort me now; she wanted to hold me until I had forgotten my sorrows. Whenever I wept, I saw that wonderful expression on her face. Love, pity, whatever it was I adored it. I only wished that Christine could look at me like that when I was not crying. My tears had slowed a bit, and I knew that in a matter of moments they would be gone all together.**

"**Christine… thank you," I repeated. "I don't disserve your forgiveness. You are wonderful, my angel… wonderful. I love you more than I can ever say." My tears had abated, and I began to feel a bit lightheaded, though I don't know if it was from my constant stream of tears or from the wild pounding of my heart as Christine held me of her own will. I was not crying anymore, and yet she was holding me still, patiently like a mother caring for her child after a tormenting dream. "Thank you," I murmured dizzily. "I love you."**

**In time, my lightheadedness passed as well. When my senses came back to me, I realized that once again I had to tear myself away from Christine. If I did not, then she would surely tire of holding me and push me away. I could not bear that. My fingers slipped beneath hers, as I removed her hands from my head and placed them lovingly in her lap. It was with both pain and joy that I realized that Christine had been weeping as well. I reached for my handkerchief and tenderly dried her tears, before wiping away my own. Then I stood, walked slowly to the spot where I had discarded my drawing, and picked it up. It wasn't so bad after all, although I had torn the lower half apart from the upper. A tremulous smile appeared on my lips as I held the two pieces together.**

"**Christine," I said quietly, "I want you to have this. I will fix it for you if you like." I made my way back to the spot where she knelt, reaching down to help her to her feet. "Perhaps I was wrong about the picture after all," I mused aloud. "It is not all that bad. Would you like me to fix it, Christine?"**

Gently I took the pieces from him. It was almost a perfect likeness. Smiling, I answered, "Yes. Go ahead and fix it." Handing the picture back to Erik, I added, "And next time, I'll wait till you're done to move."

**I wanted to throw my arms around her that very moment, to kiss her long and full on the lips, but I caught myself and merely smiled. I could wait, for now she had given me such wonderful hope. _Next time_. There would be a next time; Christine had said so. I nodded my delighted acquiescence to her wish. My fingers brushed lightly against her little hand as the torn picture passed from her grasp to mine.**

"**This will only take a moment," I said softly, stepping toward my desk.**

**Removing the lid from a small bottle, I took a seat. I began to paste the two pieces together, taking care to see that they fit exactly as they had before they were so brutally separated in my fury. When the halves were securely glued, I reached for my pencil and finished the drawing as best as I could from memory. The soft sound of footsteps echoed in my ears, and I could feel a presence behind me. I did not have to look up; Christine was watching. My smile broadened at the thought. In a matter of minutes, the sketch was finished. I felt the spot that had been ripped. Satisfied that it was dry, I replaced the bottle of glue and reached for a large jar containing an invention of my own, which would keep the lead from smearing. I opened the container and brushed a bit of the contents lightly over the drawing before returning the jar to its place. Then I stood, gazing adoringly at Christine. If only she knew how much her agreement to keep my drawing had pleased me… And her smile… If she knew what joy and hope it gave me…**

"**It is done now," I told her. "I'm afraid you will have to wait about an hour for it to dry though. In the meantime, you must be dreadfully hungry by this hour. I will fix you something to eat, unless…" I paused, looking at her helplessly. I knew that my cooking skills were hardly what they should be. The thought of serving Christine a second charred dish was not an appealing one. "…unless you would rather cook."**

I stared blankly for a moment at his troubled face. _This is what you'll be doing for the rest of your life. _Sighing slightly, I walked towards the kitchen. Stopping in the doorway, I turned and said:

"I'll cook from now on." Leaving him standing there, I began to prepare something for us to eat. It wasn't long till I was totally consumed with my work, and unconsciously I began to sing.

**I remained motionless for several minutes, not knowing whether to follow Christine or to leave her be. I was relieved to hear that the burden of cooking had been taken from me, but she suddenly seemed disheartened, as if the task was a drudgery that she would be required to perform for the rest of her life, and she dreaded it. _She isn't happy here. I am making her miserable._ The thought hit me full force, stabbing like a dagger into my already battered heart. Christine was not happy with me, and the thought of living forever as my wife was her worst nightmare. Somehow, I had to turn that nightmare into the most beautiful dream that she had ever imagined. _Good luck with that one,_ an annoying little voice in the back of my mind said. _This is one trick that all of your books on magic and slight-of-hand cannot teach you to perform._ Letting out a disconsolate sigh, I followed her meekly into the kitchen.**

**The room that met my gaze was so completely changed that I hardly recognized it. Everything was clean and in an exceptionally efficient order. Christine had done a wonderful job, although I had no idea when she had had the time to do all of this cleaning. Perhaps she had done it that morning when I left her to go to my room. I was pulled quickly away from those thoughts by the sound of singing. My lips automatically turned upward, as I closed my eyes, basking in the sweet and inadvertently alluring sound that turned a simple tune into liquid gold to the ears. And then, I too began to sing:**

"**Hold me close and hold me fast.**  
**The magic spell you cast,**  
**This is la vie en rose.**  
**When you kiss me, Heaven sighs,**  
**And though I close my eyes**  
**I see la vie en rose.**  
**When you press me to your heart**  
**I'm in a world apart,**  
**A world where roses bloom.**  
**And when you speak**  
**Angels sing from above.**  
**Every day words**  
**Seem to turn into love songs.**  
**Give your heart and soul to me,**  
**And life will always be**  
**La vie en rose."**

**As the last notes drifted away into silence, I allowed my eyes to open slowly. I was scarcely surprised to find myself standing just behind Christine with my arms encircling her waist once again. It was only natural that I should move nearer to her as I sang. She did not seem afraid, and I was not about to pull back unless she forced me to. I would make her happy tonight.**

"**Christine, after we have finished dinner, would you like to go for a little walk?" I asked softly. I leaned forward and allowed my lips to brush against the silken skin of her earlobe. "A walk would be nice, or perhaps a carriage ride. I know you must miss the fresh air. I will take you anywhere that you wish to go."**

So engrossed was I in my own little world, that I did not hear the soft sound of footsteps behind me. Not until I heard the soft, gentle tones of a song did I wake from my reverie. The sweet tune wrapped itself around my still form, and I stood there, enraptured. Only _he _could sing with such feeling and life. No other sound on earth made me feel so euphoric. I stood there, hardly daring to breathe lest the feeling should evaporate.

Gradually Erik's voice faded away as the song came to an end. Strangely enough, the fact that his arms were again encircling my waist did not cause to me recoil in disdain. Why did I feel at home in his embrace? Absentmindedly, I listened to his questions. Something was wrong here…. I shouldn't want his arms around me…. Why did I?

"A carriage ride would be nice," I murmured. "But wait," I added, taking hold of his arms that were still holding me. "Don't let me go. Not yet." The strange peaceful sensation was still there… even when he had stopped singing.

**There was a glorious peacefulness in her voice as Christine's arms came to rest over mine and she asked me not to let her go. Not yet. She wanted me to hold her, at least a while longer. This had to be a dream, yet it felt so real. My heart pounded so furiously that I thought it would surely do itself harm, and suddenly all the emotions that I had felt that morning returned. I enjoyed those feelings immensely.**

"**Anything…" I moaned happily, "…anything you wish, Christine. I won't let go. I'll hold you as long as you want."**

_**All night if you want.**_

"**I love you," I mumbled softly into her hair.**

**Still entwined with hers, my arms ran caressingly up and down her waist. I did not dare to venture any further up or down her perfect body for fear that I would not be able to keep my feelings at bay any longer. My fingers itched to touch her more intimately, but I would not allow myself that pleasure again. Not yet. When she was ready, I would know. For now, I would have to content myself with this, and that, I told myself, was not all that difficult.**

Many, many times Raoul had held me in the same fashion, and yet I did not feel the same way. My skin tingled where Erik's hands were softly stroking up and down. It was just like this morning. The same sensations were assaulting my body. _No. I must stay in control. I've got to be able to think clearly._

Something, lost, deep within me, told me that this is the way things were supposed to be. This is the way I was supposed to feel; yet I denied it. _Why didn't I ever feel this way with Raoul?_ I stared into nothingness as I tried to sort things out, but my reasoning failed miserably, and soon I gave up all together.

"We can't let dinner get cold," I said, disengaging his arms from around my waist. I sat down at the table, motioning Erik to sit as well.

**It was over so soon, much too soon for me. Only a few moments ago Christine had wanted me to hold her, and now she had moved away with an abruptness that left me in shock. My arms ached to hold her again, and I stared at her in unveiled disappointment. Letting out a sigh of mixed sorrow and longing, I walked to the table and then calmly took my seat.**

"**No, we can't let dinner get cold," I repeated flatly.**

**My eyes swept over the table, and instantly my mood changed. I was famished. Beef bourguignon. Christine had fixed beef bourguignon with carrots and potatoes. Along with the main course, there was cheese and bread, and even red wine. Everything looked delicious. I smiled at her delightedly, flattered by the trouble that she had gone to for my sake.**

"**This looks wonderful, Angel." I stood and began by serving her from the main dish, doing my best to remember the manners that my poor, unhappy mother had taught me so long ago. "Allow me, Christine," I said, looking down into her eyes. "You've worked so hard to fix this meal, and now I want to do all that I can to help. Would you like carrots?" This evening was going to be perfect. It had to be.**

"If you don't mind," I answered, a nervous smile flitting across my lips.

We ate in silence. What was there to talk about? Halfway through the meal, I desperately tried to think of some sort of conversation. The empty air had taken its toll on my nerves.

"Where did you get all of those gowns and things?" This was crazy I knew, but it was the only thing I could think of to say. "They fit me perfectly."

**The lack of conversation as we ate did not exactly bother me; however, I could see that Christine was growing anxious. She was by no means accustomed to solitude, as I was. Her discomfort was apparent, and I had begun to rack my brain for some topic to discuss when she broke the silence. I felt my face grow a bit warm at her question.**

"**Yes, they do fit you perfectly," I replied, laying aside my fork. "They should. I took your measurements from the costume department, and had the gowns specially made. As for the lingerie and undergarments, I'm afraid that I had to borrow some things from your belongings in the dormitories in order to have others made in the same size. I assure you that I returned them as soon as possible. They were not gone long enough to be missed."**

**A heated blush was rapidly spreading over my cheeks. Although I did not observe many rules of human propriety, I knew that I had overstepped my bounds in that little act. Christine would surely be angered by the thought of my borrowing such personal belongings of hers even for a short time. She must think me to be an entirely mad and ill-mannered beast now. Avoiding making eye contact with her, I turned my attention to the goblet before me, slowly draining the contents of the glass. When the wine was gone I went on calmly, fixing her with a steadfast gaze that forbade any further questions on that subject.**

"**The wedding dress," I told her coolly, "was my mother's." Perhaps I should have ended the conversation right there, but something in her eyes compelled me to go on. "Her name was Madeleine Marguerite Garron. She married my father Charles Garron, an aspiring young architect, directly out of finishing-school, where she was by far the most beautiful of young ladies. Madeleine looked like you… very much like you, Christine.**

"**She was a perfect woman with the perfect husband, doting parents, and the perfect marriage. It was only natural that she should want a perfect child, and when I came along—well, things were hardly as she'd expected. I spent the first years of my life shut away in a small, dark room in the attic, because she could not bear to look at me. Madeleine came to feed me on occasion, and nothing more. Her first present to me was a mask, and when I was old enough to walk, I was given strict instructions to never leave my room without it. My father never saw my face. He died when I was very young, and less than a year after his death, my mother met a young doctor. They began to do things together…. Before I knew what was happening they were talking about marriage. I was the only _thing_ standing in their way. Neither of them wanted me; I knew that. That man even spoke of putting me in a home for the insane. I left the house when I was seven or eight.**

"**From there, I met with a band of gypsies. When I was weak form hunger, I stumbled into their camp hoping to find food. I was captured and displayed as 'The Devil's Child,' until a kind girl about my own age, whom we now know as Madame Giry, showed me pity. She did not cry out for the guards when I killed my master and escaped. Instead, she helped me. She brought me to the cellars of the Opera Garnier to hide, and it is here that I have built my home and here that I intend to spend the rest of my life. It is peaceful here.**

"**The music has kept some bit of sanity about me. For years, I have lived on it and on my dreams. I dreamed of building great monuments, of composing music that would bring the world to tears, of having a wife and love. I never truly thought that it would be possible for me to have a family, although I wanted one more than anything else in the world. And then one day, Madame Giry brought in a little girl… an orphan… the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen… you. I wanted to court you just like any young man would, but I could not. And so, when I heard you speaking of the Angel of Music I gladly took on that pseudonym and began to sing to you in your sleep.**

"**Some years later, I returned to my mother's house in the Rue St. Patrice. Marie, my mother's dearest friend, informed me that Madeleine had died only a few days before. I was allowed to see the body, and though I might have kissed her then at last, I simply could not. Mother would not have been pleased. She told me once, when I asked, that a kiss was something that I must never ask of her." I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, but I pushed them back at once. "Marie gave me a few things to cherish in memory of my poor, unhappy mother: the wedding gown and veil, the silver mirror and little set of combs, which are on the dressing table in your room, my father's watch,"—I held the object up for her to see—"this ring that I always wear, and a few other things."**

**I admired my mother's wedding ring for a moment, stroking the plain gold band with one finger. And then I looked up suddenly, returning to the subject at hand, though I was still quite shaken from my long outpour of memories.**

"**I obtained your perfume and shampoo simply by memory. Those sweet scents, like the perfect image of your face, are forever engrained upon my heart. If there is anything else that you require, anything that I have missed, do not hesitate to ask." The look of pity and sorrow in Christine's eyes was almost unbearable. I rose hastily and walked to the counter, returning with the bottle of wine. Then, with trembling hands, I poured myself a second glass. "More wine, Angel?" I questioned, although her glass was nowhere near empty. She shook her head, and I sat back down sipping nervously at my newly filled glass. After a few moments of silence, I looked at her again.**

"**I don't know why I just told you all of that," I said slowly, "but I am glad that I did. I've never liked to speak about my past, and yet somehow with you, Christine, it is different."**

Silence greeted the end of his narrative. Blankly, I stared at him, too moved to utter a word. How could anyone be so cruel? My conscience pricked me. _Oh, but this is different. I don't have to love him. _Yet no kind of reasoning could pacify my spirit. Desperate to extinguish this uncomfortable feeling, I tried to change the subject.

"If you're through with dinner, I will go change into something more appropriate for outside." Rising, I left the kitchen and returned to my room. My mind was busily reviewing the recent conversation with some indignation. He had the audacity to rummage through my personal belongings. Blushing hotly, I continued to change. Finishing quickly, I left the room and went in search of Erik.

A/N: This chapter is named for the song that Erik sings. "La vie en rose" is French for "life in pink" or, as we would say, "seeing the world through rose colored glasses." I have chosen to use this song because I love it, even though it was not written until 1946 by the French singer Edith Paif. The English lyrics I have used in this chapter were written later by Mack David. Most of Erik's life history in this chapter comes from Susan Kay's novel _Phantom_, but I have changed a few details. As a historical note, yes, I know that the Opera Garnier did not open until 1875. But since this story is based mostly on the ALW musical and movie, I've chosen to ignore history, like Andrew Lloyd Webber did, and pretend that the Opera would have been around when Erik was a young teen for Madame Giry to hide him there. Webber, and most stories based on the 2004 movie, including this one, also ignores the siege and commune of 1870, the date he chose to set the movie. Ah, the power of fiction.


	6. The Couple from Erik’s Picture

A/N: Thank you everyone for your enthusiastic reviews. We love you all. This has been the best received of my stories, thanks to the work of my wonderful coauthor Christine, and of course our wonderful audience, all of you. : ) Please do keep reading and reviewing.

Chapter Six

The Couple from Erik's Picture

**I did not mean to upset her, yet I could see the pain in Christine's eyes as she left to change. I would have to cheer her up this evening. That could prove to be quite interesting. Taking another long drink, I leaned back in my chair and slowly shut my eyes. Visions of Christine instantly flooded my mind. I could see her in her room, standing in front of the dressing table, brushing her long curls before the mirror… using Madeleine's brushes. My smile turned immediately into a deep frown. The last person I wanted to think about was my mother, the cold perfect goddess who could not bear even to kiss her own disfigured baby. A sharp pain shot through my chest. I would not think of her now. Perhaps this carriage ride was what we both needed. Shaking my head fiercely, I stood and began to clear away the remainder of our dinner, scooping our leftovers back into the serving dish and piling the dirty dishes on the counter. When everything was put away, I too went to my room to prepare for our evening excursion.**

**Standing just in front of the curtain that served as the door, I removed my mask and placed my right hand firmly over the malformed portion of my face. In this precarious position, I shaved as I always have, and then placed a slicked-back, brown wig over my own sparse hair, quickly replacing the mask. Even after all of these years, I loathe the sight of my own face in the glass. I still recall vividly the first time that my mother forced me in front of the mirror, and I will not look at my own hideous visage if I do not have to.**

**My ****waistcoat **came next. I had just begun to struggle with my cravat when I heard a delicate set of footsteps in the main room. Christine was finished and looking for me.

"**Just a moment, my dear," I called, as my long fingers became even more entangled in the stubborn piece of cloth. "I am almost ready." I fought with it for several more minutes, muttering angrily beneath my breath. Why on earth was I so nervous? My palms were sweating, and my hands were trembling so badly that I could not even manage to tie the cravat. I had nearly burst into another fit of rage, when a simple solution occurred to me.**

"**Christine?" I ventured slowly from behind the curtain, the cravat hanging limply about my neck. The very sight of her took my breath away, and I could not move, let alone speak, for a few moments. The long-sleeved, dark blue dress was even more stunning on her than the maroon gown had been. It fit her like a glove, accentuating far more than the color of her eyes. Swallowing rather noisily, I took a step toward her. "Lovely," I breathed, my eyes wandering slowly over her slender form.**

**With a shrug of my thin shoulders, I attempted the request once more, "Christine, would you be so kind as to help me with this cravat? I can't seem to do a thing with it."**

Slowly, I made my way over to him, slightly embarrassed by his request. I hadn't tied a cravat in heaven knew when. Picking up the two pieces of cloth, I gingerly attempted fix them properly. Gradually my memory returned to me, and I kept my eyes concentrated on my work to avoid Erik's gaze. Within a few moments I had tucked the cravat into his shirt.

"There," I said, only then allowing my eyes to meet his. "Are we ready now?"

"**Of course, my darling," I answered, looking down into Christine's eyes. We stood only a whisper apart, so close that I could almost feel the warmth of her body. If either of us were to make the slightest move forward we would be touching. My skin still tingled where her little fingers had touched me as she tucked the cravat into my shirt. The desire to kiss her was almost undeniable. I leaned down slightly, and my lips hovered over hers for a brief moment before I drew back without making any contact. I couldn't. Not without her permission, and that was something that Christine was not likely to give me for quite some time, if ever. _"No Erik, you must not ask that of me. I will give you anything that you want, but you cannot ask me to kiss you. You must never ask that again. Do you hear me? Never."_ Mother's reprimanding words echoed in my tormented mind, and I turned hastily from Christine.**

**Striding quickly to the coat-rack, I put on my jacket and cloak. With a twist of my hand, I led Christine to follow me. I kept my eyes fixed on my own hands as I helped her into her cloak. Then, taking her hand in mine, I led the way through the murky tunnel that ended at the long row of windows on the back of the Opera. I moved automatically to the fifth window from the left, and raised the glass and iron structure. After helping Christine through, I climbed out and then closed the hidden entryway.**

**A short time later, we sat side by side in a black brougham as the cabdriver urged his horses slowly along the Bois.**

"**It is a lovely night," I commented, edging a bit nearer to Christine. "The weather is perfect… a bit chilly, but no rain. I'm so glad that you chose to come on this ride. I do enjoy it so much more in your company. There is a beautiful park just ahead. Have you ever been to this part of town before?"**

"Yes, I think so," I answered, half recognizing where we were. The dim street lamps cast dancing shadows on the world and made it difficult to see clearly. "But only once. It is not really familiar to me." Raoul had taken me out for a carriage ride similar to this one, and we had stopped at the park for a little stroll. _I can't do this anymore. If I keep thinking about Raoul, I'll go crazy._

It was then that I decided not to let myself daydream about Raoul any longer. It was futile, only causing me to be unhappy. We drove on, and for the second time I struggled to find words. Erik, seated on my right, had turned away, so for the moment I contented myself with studying him.

He was thin, no doubt about that. Yet judging from the past, I knew he was not at all weak. The times he had held me, I had felt the power in his arms. My eyes rested on his half-turned face. The unmasked side of his face was nearly the image of perfection, and his deeply set eyes gave him a dark, almost immortal appearance.

I knew well what was under the mask. Why should a man, with his features, be forced to bear the cruelness of disfigurement? _He would be so handsome…_

Erik turned towards me, surprising me out of my thoughts.

"It is rather brisk isn't it?" I smiled uneasily, shivering more from nervousness that from the cold. I hoped my eyes were not betraying me, for I knew he could almost always read my mind.

"**Yes," I replied, my eyes locking instantly with hers, "it is." I studied her for a few moments in silence. Her eyes easily divulged her ponderings, and this time I was exceedingly pleased with the thoughts that those azure spheres unwittingly communicated. Christine apparently knew that I could sense her thoughts, for I saw her shiver.**

"**Why, you are cold, my angel," I said with a feigned expression of concern, pretending that I did not realized the real reason for her apprehensive tremors. "We mustn't have that." Sliding across the leather seat, I moved so that our bodies were pressed against each other as my arm slipped effortlessly around her shoulders. "There, that is much better." I sighted contentedly, as my fingers moved beneath the fabric of her cloak and began to run lightly over her sleeve. "You see, this is the perfect weather when you have someone beside you to keep you warm, especially the _right_ person. We are right for each other, you know. You needn't be afraid when your skin tingles when we touch. It is because we are made for one another."**

**There was a brief silence, but she did not struggle or attempt to move away. I smiled and closed my eyes, leaning my head against hers. Then, all at once, I decided to reveal what I had seen in her eyes. She might as well know that I knew her thoughts. Besides, they had made me very happy indeed.**

"**Christine, did you know that I look very much like my father? On the left side of my face, I mean. I have an old picture of Charles and Madeleine. Would you like to see it when we are home?"**

The sensation of our bodies touching, his head against mine, the very fact that he realized what I had been thinking; was all too much for my senses. _"We are right for each other, you know." _This thought terrified me the most. Maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was because I knew, deep down inside, he was right. Stupefied, I allowed him to hold me close.

"Yes," I replied in answer to his question. Gradually, I relaxed, allowing myself to lean against him. His body was warm… inviting. Subconsciously I nestled closer. The gentle rhythm of the carriage rocked us comfortingly, and I felt myself slipping away….

**Christine was falling asleep. I smiled to myself as her breathing became deep and even. My heart was beating so noisily that I thought it would surly disturb her sleep, but my beloved did not appear to hear it. We were very close; she had moved nearer to me of her own accord. I was dumbfounded, yet it felt so right for me to hold her as she slept. _This is how it should be every night_, I thought to myself.**

**After a few minutes, I began to feel weary also. "Driver," I called drowsily, "you may take us back to the Opera now."**

**The man obliged by turning the carriage, speaking softly to his horses. I wrapped my free arm around Christine's waist and finally succumbed to exhaustion. The next thing that I knew the brougham was coming to a halt in front of the Opera Garier. Yawning, I forced myself to open my eyes.**

"**Christine…" I whispered, nudging her gently, "are you awake, dearest?"**

My eyes flew open. _Where am I? _Arms were cradling me gently, and for a brief, thrilling moment, I thought it was Raoul. Not daring to look up, I raised my arm to feel his face, yet my hand was not met with Raoul's features, but with Erik's mask. I sighed slightly with disappointment. I should have known it was him. Sleep was gradually leaving me, and I gazed upward, my hand still holding his mask.

Our eyes met, and I studied those dark spheres, almost black in the dim light. No, this wasn't Raoul, yet _his _eyes, though filled with the same affection and love, shone differently. It was something deeper, more intense than Raoul's gaze. It was as if he knew every part of my being, and was inviting me to find _his _soul. A warm thrill diffused down my spine as I gazed deeper, trying to read everything those eyes revealed. I was intoxicated with the world his look held, and I gripped his arm tightly, my heart beating fiercely. I wanted what was in those eyes. _That is where I belong. Closer. I need to be closer. _Our noses were almost touching. I slid my other hand off his mask and clasped his shoulders. My body burned…. C_loser..._

The impatient braying of the horses startled me, and as quickly as it had come, the spell was broken. I released him, blushing slightly and turning my eyes to the floor.

"Maybe we should go inside," I said slowly.

**I nodded, and with a long sigh, I let out the breath that I had been holding in since Christine's face had come so near to mine. I could not speak. My heart had long since ceased to beat in any sort of a normal rhythm; it seemed to be thumping so rapidly that it was practically buzzing. My limbs trembled visibly as I stepped from the carriage and offered her my arm. She took it, stepping to the ground in a graceful motion that was a delight to behold. My head was spinning. Her touch, her very presence beside me sent a thrill throughout my entire being. All of these brief, enthrallingly intimate moments between us were doing something to me. Each time that I held her, it became increasingly difficult to tear away from her. Someday I would have to give in… we would both have to give in to the yearnings of our hearts.**

**But I could not think of that now. Shaking my head, I released her arm and strode to the front of the carriage.**

"**Thank you Monsieur. We no longer require your assistance," I addressed the driver, handing him sufficient currency to leave the man speechless. In the future, I would have to be a bit more careful with my salary, as the new managers had refused to pay me a single centime. But Christine was certainly worth the sacrifice. Heaven knows I would have bought her the moon if she had asked for it. A smile curled at the corners of my lips as I turned my gaze upon her once more. "I believe that we can make it home on foot quite easily from here," I said, still watching Christine intently. "Goodnight, Monsieur."**

**Stepping to Christine's side, I watched as the brougham drove off into the distance. When it was out of sight, I turned to her. I allowed my eyes to linger on her perfect face for a moment, and then I turned toward the Opera, calling softly over my shoulder, "Come Christine."**

**We re-entered the building in the same way that we had exited. Again, I led my beloved along the darkened passages without the aid of a lantern or torch. Light is completely unnecessary to me. My eyes work rather like those of a cat. I only wished that I had some form of light to comfort Christine, yet she seemed to feel safe enough as I guided her along. This time, however, instead of merely taking her hand, I allowed myself to take the liberty of wrapping one arm around her waist.**

As we descended deeper into the Opera, my memory wandered to months before when Erik had brought me down to his lair for the first time. That was the beginning of all this. Something told me then that it was not the end… and I had been right.

A pang of exhilaration shot through my side as Erik slid his arm around my waist. I dared not look at him through the darkness, for my heart was beating fast once again, and I did not want to lose myself. This was ridiculous. Every time we touched I experienced the same feeling. One of these moments I was going to break and regret my actions later. I bit my lip trying to shut off those rushing sensations by thinking of other things. I thought of asking him to let go of me, but that was not wise. He would be hurt, I would feel sorry, and then it would start all over again. Prudently, I remained silent and followed his gentle leading.

Soon enough we reached our destination, and I slipped out of his embrace to remove my cloak, hanging it on the coat-rack. I glanced at Erik through eyes that were becoming heavy with sleep. Exhaustion was creeping over me with drug-like slowness. Once he showed me the photograph of his parents, I would retire.

"Aren't you going to show me the picture?" I asked sleepily.

"**Of course, my dear," I replied with a weary smile. "If you will wait here a moment, I'll bring it to you. Please sit down. You look fatigued."**

**I reached for Christine's arm and then retracted my hand, looking at her in frustrated concern. Had I done something wrong? She did not want me to touch her—I could sense that clearly—so I guided her to a comfortable chair without laying a finger on her. Then, forcing a smile, I made my way to my room. Opening the top drawer of the bureau, I carefully lifted out the photograph. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I glanced at it. Perhaps I was imagining things. After all, only a few minutes before Christine had seemed to enjoy our close contact as much as I had. I hurried back to the main room and handed the small golden frame to her.**

"**Here it is," I said, lowering myself onto the footstool beside her chair as I watched her expression keenly. "That was Charles and Madeleine in their happiest days." _Before I was born._**

My head swam as I looked upon the picture. _I look like her… too much like her… and he... except for the mask, is the very image of his father. _I looked from the photo to Erik, and back again, clutching the arm of the chair. I felt like I was looking at my own future, and this I couldn't handle.

"It's a lovely picture," I said hastily, not daring to look at him. Then, rising from the chair, I flew to my room, leaning against the back of the door after I had shut it behind me. I had enough for one night. I couldn't take any more. Slowly, with shaking fingers, I began to undress and get ready for bed.

**Confounded to a state of mindless silence, I stared at the picture which Christine had thrust so hastily back into my hands. Those deep blue eyes seemed to stare right back at me, so much like Christine's eyes and yet so different, so cold and unfeeling. _I've frightened her again,_ I thought to myself, when my mind had become a bit less numb. _Too much too soon._ Mother was right…. Oh, but she couldn't be. I would not allow her to win.**

"**She is _different_," rising, I spoke aloud to the image. "Christine _is_ different, I tell you. You see her, don't you? She's perfect, more beautiful than you could ever be, because her soul is beautiful. She does not have a heart made of stone like you, Mamma." I stood stiffly and stalked off to my room, still addressing the photograph as if it were a living person. She could hear me. Somehow, in that phase of mental instability, I knew that she could hear me. "Oh, she is afraid now, we are both a bit staggered by what we are feeling, but someday she will not be afraid. Someday Christine Daaé will love me…. She will love me for myself, and she will allow me to kiss her! You told me long ago that that would never happen. You said that no woman could blame you for your actions… that no woman would ever kiss me. Well, you were wrong, Mamma! Wrong!"**

**Before my anger could get the better of me, I quickly placed the picture face down and back into the drawer. I did not want to break it; even in my fury, I could not bear that. Letting out a low growl, I slammed the bureau shut. Then, with hands trembling from all of my raging emotions, I began to undress.**

_It was a field of green, bathed in the soft mist of morning. I was alone walking through the grass that reached almost to my waist. As the early rays of the sun broke, I saw something in the distance. Curious, I moved towards it, trying to make out what it was. Closer and closer I came. A low gasp escaped from my lips. It wasn't… oh, but it was! Raoul! Letting out a cry of joy, I ran to him. He was smiling invitingly, holding his arms outstretched to welcome me. But instead of feeling his warm embrace, I was met with cold marble. Choking back my tears, I traced over the icy stone with my fingers, stroking his face gently. "Raoul… Raoul…." I sank sobbing, onto the ground, angrily twisting the grass between my fists as I cried out in frustration._

_Out of nowhere came a sweet sound of someone singing. Holding my breath, I listened, the tears slowly abating. The glorious voice called to me, begging me to come find it. I rose, following the song. It was Erik. It had to be. No one else could sing like that._

_The voice drifted this way and that, and I trailed after his gentle pleading. It was coming from the dark forest. Hesitating on the edge of the line of forbidding trees, I debated whether to go in or not. Without a warning, two people came racing out of the forest, their eyes flaming wild with demons. It was the couple from Erik's picture. The man let out a blood-curdling yell and doubled his fast pace. I turned to run, both of them following not far behind. The woman, screeching, witchlike, "He is too ugly, hideous! You will never kiss him! No one will ever love him! I forbid it!" I raced frantically trying to get away from them. I could feel the man's hot, sulfur breath on my neck. He was catching up._

_I cried out, "Erik…. Erik…. Where are you?" Running with all I had, I screamed his name over and over, begging him to save me. With one rough jerk, I felt myself being slammed to the ground. The man stood over me, snarling, his eyes red, like one possessed. Pulling out a knife, he kneeled on me, gripping my hair savagely with his free hand._

_"You will never love him," he hissed through clenched teeth. I shrieked in pain, as he drove the knife into my shoulder… deeper and deeper…._

**Sleep was not coming easily that night. It seemed like hours that I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, exhausted but far too troubled for sleep. Truthfully, I did not wish to sleep, for each time that I closed my eyes I only saw my mother's face and heard her voice ringing out harsh, abrasive words in my mind. At last, my eyes became too heavy for me to hold open. Slowly, weariness overcame me, and I began to drift into a light, fitful sleep. It was only a matter of moments later that I heard it; Christine was calling my name frantically. I rose at once and grasped out for my mask and robe, tying them hastily about my face and thin body. Christine needed me.**

**As I rushed into her room, I found my beloved thrashing helplessly in her sleep. She was still calling for me. Instantly I was at her side, taking her into my arms. I shook her arm gently to wake her, and her lids flutter open, revealing those heavenly china blue eyes spilling over with tears.**

"**Christine, it's alright," I whispered, rocking her back and forth like a very small child. "It was only a dream. I'm here now. Nothing will hurt you. No one can harm you. I won't let them."**

My vision faded, and I awoke slowly, my breath coming in gasps. I heard Erik's gentle soothing, and felt his warm arms around me, rocking gently. Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I continued sobbing over the terrifying memory of my dream.

"Don't leave me!" I shrieked, when Erik shifted. Gripping his neck tighter, I begged, still sobbing, "Don't let me go! Stay… I can't be alone!"

Gradually, my body stopped shaking, and my breathing became more controlled. I was too frightened to go back to sleep. My arms kept a tight hold on Erik. His touch was protecting.

**She was utterly terrified. My poor Christine must have had a frightful nightmare, for even after her tears had subsided she was clinging to me with a feverish intensity completely contrary to her usual gentleness. I did my best to put her fears at rest, and to my great delight she responded most favorably, nestling closer to me with a soft sigh. My touch seemed to reassure her. She felt so small and delicate in my arms that I wanted nothing more than to protect her, to keep her here with me, safe from all the cruelties of the outside world.**

**I could have held her like that all night, yet in time I realized that my angel needed her sleep. I waited patiently, and still she did not let go. Smiling to myself, I allowed my gaze wander over the bed where we were seated, and then back to the woman in my arms. My fingers ran lightly over the silken material of her pale pink nightdress as I drank in the tantalizing aroma of her perfume.**

**Christine shifted, moving closer still. I nearly gasped aloud at the sensation of her breasts pressing against my torso through the folds of my dressing gown and the thin material of her nightdress. The pull of sleep was rapidly fleeing from my body, being replaced by other, stronger urges. _Perhaps,_ I mused to myself_, Christine, like me, does not feel tired anymore._ If I did not allow her to rest just yet, there was always the possibility that she would allow me to… _Stop it Erik!_ My conscience would not allow that thought to finish itself. _How can you be so selfish?_ It chided. _Would you disgrace the woman you adore for a few minutes of delirious pleasure?_ Shame flooded my body. I could never dishonor my beloved in such a manner. It would be difficult to say the least, but for her sake, I would wait.**

_**Wait…. Wait…. Wait….**_

"**You must rest now, Christine," I told her firmly. Fear glistened in her eyes as I removed her frail arms from their hold on my neck. With great care, I took hold of her legs and upper body, laying her flat on the bed. She reached for my arm in a wordless, terrified protest.**

"**I am not leaving," I assured her, moving quickly into a reclining position on the opposite side of the bed. As I looked at her, I saw that she was still trembling. My brow furrowed; I could not bear to see her like this. A moment later, I had her in my arms again. "You must not be afraid, my love," I whispered, stroking her hair soothingly. "Your Angel of Music is here. I'll protect you." Closing my eyes, I drew her body nearer to mine. "Now, you go back to sleep. I will lie right here beside you and chase away all of those bad dreams. I'll even sing for you if you'd like." My eyes opened slowly, and I looked tenderly into her eyes. I would sing her to sleep and then creep back to my own room. It seemed to be the perfect plan. "Would you like me to sing for you, Christine?"**

Sleep, once again, was slowly stealing over me, yet I was too afraid to close my eyes, dreading to see that man again. Erik's embrace gave me more assurance that there was nothing to fear. In his arms, I was invincible to anything. Looking into his eyes, I noticed the same strange glow in them that I had seen not many hours ago in the carriage. _What is it? _Try as I might, I couldn't read it. I nodded my head in assent to his question, still in too much shock to speak.

His angelic voice soon filled the room, and I relaxed, lost in the heavenly sound. I could feel the gentle rising and falling of each of his breaths against my chest, and soon I was drifting away….


	7. Why Must You Still Hide?

A/N: It is time for an author's note and another chapter. Thank you again to all of our wonderful reviewers. Christine4ever86 and I love you guys to bits! Sorry it took a while for me to get the next chapter up, but it is better for the editing. I'll try to be fast next time. We've just had a bit of writer's block for a while. However, we are back now. Please don't stop reading and reviewing. Review replies are at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Seven

Why Must You Still Hide?

**When I opened my eyes, I expected to find myself in my own room, as usual; however, this time I awoke to the sight of a mass of thick brown curls nestled against my chest.**

**Christine.**

**After an entire week had passed, Christine was still having reoccurring nightmares. Although she had never described the dreams to me, I knew from her reactions that they must be completely horrifying. Each night she would wake screaming for me, and I would sing her to sleep cradling her in my arms. Then, when I was certain that she was asleep, I would carefully remove myself from our embrace and return to my own room where I removed my mask and robe, and then at last fell asleep myself. Apparently, last night, for the first time, I had succeeded in singing myself to sleep as well.**

**Letting out a soft sigh, I looked down at my beloved. Even in sleep she was beyond beautiful, a sweet smile painted upon her lips. Her dreams were clearly pleasant ones now. She looked more angelic as she slept than ever before. I could not coerce myself to wake her, and the position in which we were lying made movement of any kind virtually impossible without disturbing her. Familiar yearnings stirred within me. Her body was so warm, and we were so close that nearly every inch of our bodies were touching. I wanted to be even closer, as close as two people can get… to become one.**

**A smile played on my lips. Our legs were entwined in a most compromising position, one of hers thrown over mine, while the other lay flush against mine. One of her hands lay at her side, inadvertently separating the folds of my robe, yet not quite touching me. And that nightgown… Why did I ever purchase such a thing? The very sight of her was temping. A low moan gurgled in my throat. This was **_**torture.**_

**Gulping for air, I quickly shut my eyes and attempted desperately to think of something else. It was then that a dreadful thought occurred to me. My mask… it was missing. It must have slipped off while I was sleeping. I sat up at once, my eyes wide with horror and my right hand pressed tightly against my face. I began to search frantically beneath the sheets, muttering curses beneath my breath. All thought of waking Christine rapidly left my mind. I had to find that mask!**

Groggily, I opened my eyes. A movement in the bed had awakened me. Much to my surprise, Erik was in the bed, rummaging through the blankets. For a week, I had been having those nightmares, and every night, Erik had awakened me, and when the dawn finally broke, he was gone. But this morning, here he was; the warm spot next to me, confirmed that he had slept here all night.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I rolled over onto my back, lying on something hard. Sliding a hand underneath me, I found Erik's mask. My immediate reaction was to return it to him, but I hesitated. _I have been with him for a while now. Why does he still have to hide? _I raised myself with one hand, while the other held the mask beneath the sheets. In my somewhat foggy stupor, I didn't notice that part of my nightgown had slid off my shoulder.

"Erik," I murmured. He turned to me, his right hand still covering part of his face. For a moment, I looked at him, catching another glimpse of that strange light in his eyes that I had seen all week. I shifted on my knees in front of him, and gently laid my hand on top of his that was pressed to his face. I worked my fingers through his till I could feel some of his deformed features. Holding my breath, I tried to pull his hand away, and to my surprise, he allowed me to. I laid my hand on that horrible deformity and began softly to caress it with my fingers. I was no longer afraid or disgusted with what I saw, and I didn't know why. As a matter of fact, I didn't know why I was doing any of this. It was as if something inside of me was driving me to. For a while, I sat there massaging his face gently. Then, bringing my right hand up, I placed the mask back on his face.

"Why must you still hide?" I asked, gazing into his eyes and placing my hands on his shoulders. Secretly, I savored every moment of the feelings I experienced when we touched… though I didn't even dare admit it to myself.

"**Why?" I echoed, staring at her in utter confusion. **_**Why would she want to see my face?**_** The warmth of her caress lingered on the horrendously malformed right side of my face, even after her fingers had ceased to touch that twisted flesh. "I continue to wear the mask, because you… because I…"**

_**I was told to. My own mother could not bear to look at me, and neither can anyone else, least of all one as perfect as you.**_** My words faltered, and for a moment, for one of the first times in my life, the voice that I had used to manipulate anyone that I wished to was lost to me. I took a deep breath and then exhaled on a long sigh. Then, placing my hand over one of hers, I lifted it from my shoulder and pressed her tiny hand between my own hands. Our eyes locked, and I looked at her with all the passion and love that seemed to be overwhelming my soul. At that moment, I would have done anything for her; perhaps she knew it. There was a gentle glow in her eyes, one that I did not quite understand. If it were what she wanted, I would not wear the mask as long as we were alone together.**

"**Would you like me to take off the mask, Christine?" I asked with timid fervor. "I only thought that you would be afraid, repulsed by the sight of my face. One so perfect as you should not be forced to look upon the very image of repugnance. Unless…" **_**Unless she could love me for myself and not care what I look like. Then the mask would be needless.**_** Lifting her hand to my mask, I spoke again, looking deeper into her eyes, hopefulness ringing in my tone as it surely shown in my eyes. "I will leave the mask on always if you wish, but if you do not want me to wear it, then I will take it off and put it away."**

"You can leave it off," I whispered. "Or, you can leave it on. Whatever is comfortable for you. But whether you wear the mask or not, it doesn't change who you are." His eyes were burning even brighter, and for a moment, I lost myself in his gaze. _What does it matter now? With or without the mask, you are still Erik. _I kept my hand still over his mask. He would have to decide himself.

**Slowly, deliberately, I took hold of Christine's hand, carefully slipping her fingers beneath the soft leather of my mask. I watched as the façade fell, landing noiselessly on the bed sheets beneath us, and then I returned my eyes to meet with hers. In the past, whenever my mask was removed in front of someone, a startling physical change would take place in me. Without that small piece of leather, I was lost. The distinguished gentleman promptly faded away, and I became rash and desperate, like a frightened creature of the night frantically searching for a place to hide, or lashing out in anger at some predator. This time, however, an immense wave of relief washed over me. This was what I had been waiting for. Acceptance was the first real step towards love.**

**There was no trace of fear or disgusted loathing in Christine's eyes as she looked upon me. My heart raced, its unsteady rhythm growing faster and faster until I thought that I would surly pass out. I could feel myself reeling with sheer ecstasy. Steadying myself, I reached for the metallic rim of the bed, taking several deep breaths and slowly releasing them. When at last I brought myself to look at Christine again, I saw a slight expression of concern coming over her perfect features.**

"**I am fine," I assured her, "just a bit stunned, that is all. If you don't mind, I would like very much not to wear the mask. But if at any time the sight of my face disturbs you, please do not hesitate to tell me. I will put it back on now if you want." I waited for this glorious new hope to be shattered, but she gave no reply. A smile appeared very slowly on my lips. "No mask," I confirmed, rising and placing the object on the nightstand. "Thank you, Christine. You cannot imagine how happy you have made me."**

**Taking a seat once more beside her, I cautiously fingered the sleeve that was hanging limply over Christine's arm. Then I pulled it unhurriedly up to cover her shoulder. My fingers brushed against her bare flesh, and I allowed them to linger there a moment longer as I reveled in the warmth and softness of her skin. A familiar sense of yearning rushed through my veins, as my eyes traveled gradually up her soft, white arm and toward her sapphire eyes. I allowed those sensations to last for a moment, savoring them, and then I quickly withdrew my hand.**

"**We had better be getting up now," I said, my voice deepening slightly with desire. Turning from her, I stood hurriedly to my feet. "I am certainly ready for breakfast."**

Blushing slightly, I rose off the bed, my shoulder still burning from his touch. I moved over to the vanity, in order to put on my robe, and when I turned, Erik was gone. My eyes caught sight of the mask that lay forgotten on the nightstand. _Why aren't I afraid anymore? _I half expected myself to recoil when once again his mask was removed, but I didn't. I didn't feel anything. Not fear, not pity, not loathing, nothing. And it wasn't like I had gradually gotten used to his face, because this was the first time I had seen him without the mask in a long while. I couldn't understand it.

Dressing hastily, I went to see about breakfast. In a few moments, we were seated at the table. The pursuing nightmares were robbing me of comfortable sleep, and my eyes were heavy. This had to end. Every morning I awoke like this. I looked over at Erik who was studying me carefully. This time I didn't even notice that his mask was absent.

"Oh Erik," I moaned, my head resting in my hands. "These nightmares… they have to stop. I can't go on any more like this. It's getting to the point where I don't fall asleep for hours." This fact, I had determined to keep from him, knowing it would cause him to worry, but now I didn't care. "What am I to do?" I looked helplessly into his eyes. "When I'm with you, for the rest of the night I don't have any more nightmares. But…" _Marry him. _I was jarred out of my senses with that thought. I stared blankly at Erik. _Marry him. It's the only way to rid yourself of night after night of horrors. _No! I banged my hand against the table and rushed out of the kitchen, my eyes misting over.

Tears streaming down my face, I stopped at the edge of the lake, sinking to the ground. _I won't marry him. I can't. _I choked on my tears._ I can't…. I can't…. I can't…._

**An unbelievable surge of pain shot through my chest as Christine fled from the room. The only answer that had come to her was quite obvious, as plain as her instantaneous rejection of the idea. **_**Marriage.**_** If she were to marry me, I would be with her every night to hold and soothe her, and the nightmares would be gone forever. Clearly, that thought repulsed her.**

**Though at first our immediate marriage seemed to be the only answer to her dilemma, I knew that now was no time for a proposal. She was not ready to be married; for her sake, I would have to wait. At times, she welcomed my comfort, and yet at other times Christine seemed so distant. For the past week, I had done everything in my power to make her happy, and still my Christine was miserable. Still she did not love me.**

**Tears welled unmercifully in my eyes, but I would not allow them to flow. I had to be able to think rationally. Leaning my head in both hands, I attempted to force myself to ponder our other options. There had to be some way that I could help her. Several minutes passed with no answer. At last, I developed a few ideas. I could sing her to sleep every night, and not wait until she awoke from her nightmares. Or perhaps I could give her something to help her sleep, something that would not harm her. I would have to work on concocting such a drug myself. The task could be done, but it would be difficult. It could take me days, weeks, and all the while my poor angel would be suffering. Sighing wearily, I rose and followed the soft sound of my beloved's weeping to the edge of the lake.**

"**Christine," I whispered, kneeling beside her and placing one hand over her own little hands, which covered her face. "Please do not cry anymore, my angel. I will not force you to marry me now. I have told you that. There are other ways that we can stop these nightmares… countless ways. Perhaps if I sing to you when you are initially going to sleep, you will not be troubled with those dreams at all. You say that you are fine when I am with you, yet I almost always leave after you are asleep. If that does not work, we will simply have to try something else."**

**My fingers moved gently beneath hers, and slowly I lowered her hands from her face. Then I began to wipe away her tears. "Christine, I love you," I whispered, fighting the urge to cover her flawless lips with my imperfect ones. "Perhaps if you told me about your dreams, I would know better how I can help you."**

I looked into his eyes, choking on my tears. _How can I possibly tell him?_

"I can't," I whimpered, more hot droplets streaming down my face. His eyes glowed with concern, pleading whither to unleash my burden. My spirit longed to tell him everything, to sob into his chest and feel his arms around me. My eyes wandered over the lake that was glittering with the reflection of the many candles that flickered in the cavern. I had to tell him. There was no other choice. I had to escape from those terrors at night or I would lose my mind.

"Raoul..." I began tremulously, my head still turned away from him. "He's always there." I feared Erik's reaction to the mention of his hated rival, but hearing silence, I continued. "But… I can never seem to get close to him." A solitary tear slid down my cheek. "He is just out of my reach. And, other times… he shouts that he hates me… threatening to kill me." For a moment, I met Erik's eyes helplessly. "One time he did. It was horrible!" Every moment was a struggle to keep my tears in check.

"Then, there's…" I hesitated, turning my gaze back towards the lake, "…there's you. I hear you. You're calling, singing to me. Then I try to find you… but there's always something in the way." Shuddering, I turned back to him, gripping his arm. "It's them! They're there, always…. She's like a witch, screeching hateful things. He… he is the worst of all. His eyes are blood red, like a demon. He chases after me with a knife, and when he is near, I can feel his breath…. It burns and smells of sulfur…. He curses at me, pursuing me all the while. Oh, and when he finally catches me—it is too terrible! He plunges his knife in me…. I cry for you… but you never come." The tears were now flowing uncontrolled down my face. "It's them… those two… in your picture."

"I hear them… not just in my dreams anymore." I was choking now, barley able to control my breathing. "They're here, haunting me. Sometimes I see his eyes, those scarlet eyes, peering at me…. And I hear her… her screams, her snarls…. Oh Erik, I'm going to die! They are going to take me away! They are going to kill me! They are here, waiting, waiting for the chance!" I cried wildly, leaning my head on his chest. "I'm going to die!" I choked.

**Shaking my head fiercely, I took Christine in my arms and pressed her nearer. She felt so frail now, so small and helpless. But she needed me; the wonderful thing was that she was coming to me for consolation just as she had for an entire week. Yet, I could not find joy in that fact as long as she was unhappy and afraid. Her whole body trembled. My heart ached for her, and her weeping brought a fresh flood of tears to my own eyes. What had I done? If I had had any idea that showing her the picture of my parents would result in this utter terror, I would have kept it hidden forever from her sight.**

"**No, my angel…" I whispered. The fingers of one hand began to stroke her silken hair as the other ran lightly up and down her back. Oddly enough, it seemed only natural that I should put aside the feelings that such nearness evoked. Christine was in need, and as time went by her wants and needs were becoming much more important to me than my own requirements and desires. "No, you will not die. I will protect you. No one is going to hurt you, ever. I won't let you out of my sight. You're safe. Your Angel of Music, your Erik will never leave you."**

**I allowed her to cry for a few minutes as I wept silently along with her. Wearily, I rested my throbbing head on top of hers. There had to be some way that I could help her, but at the moment, my tired mind ached far too much to think properly. ****And then it came to me. ****I had to convince my poor Christine that there was nothing to fear. The monsters that her dreams had created were nothing like my parents; she must know that.**

"**Christine, I know what will help you," I said softly, still not willing to move from our close embrace. "You must know that you are fearing something completely false. Those people that you see in your dreams—alone in your room, when I am not with you—are not real. They do not exist, and they never have. My mother and father weren't really like that at all, Christine. Madeleine was a wonderful woman, spirited, vivacious, and beautiful with scores of friends. When I was born, her world was shattered. All of her friends went away, except for Marie. I gained enemies for her and my father, merely by living under the same roof and by being their child. I was never allowed in public, but I used to sneak out at night. I would go to the church, and sit playing at the organ until it was nearly dawn. People got to thinking that there was some sort of a ghost, until someone saw me. They called me 'the monster,' 'the walking dead boy,' and at night, boys from town would come and throw stones through the windows. My parents were shunned whenever they went out because of me. Most of Papa's workers still respected him, but for Mamma, things were quite different."**

**At this point, I pulled back slowly just enough so that I could look into Christine's eyes. It was imperative that she understood what I was about to say. I could not bear for her to be tormented like this.**

"**She never really hated me; I know that now. We both had tempers though. It was from Mamma that I received mine. When she and I would fight, Papa knew better than to interfere. One of us would say something, and make the other angry or hurt or upset. And when either of us burst into a fit of blind rage, the other was never far behind. I have forgiven her long ago for the things that she said…. We both said so many things to each other that we did not mean.**

"**And Papa was never cruel like that man who haunts your dreams. He was a gentleman and a hard worker, kind and generous to everyone that he knew, even to me. Mamma kept him blinded. She did not wish to trouble him with the sight of his own son, a child who looked mostly like him but partly like a hideous beast from the pit of hell. Charles was a busy man, an architect, but he did his best for Mamma and me. He bought me anything that I asked for—books, drawing pencils, box after box of paper, musical scores, blank staff paper—especially when Mamma had upset me. And he loved to buy things for Madeleine. He would have given her the world on a silver platter with a golden crown and scepter to rule as queen, had she asked him.**

"**After my father died, I suppose it was only natural that Mamma should want to remarry and begin a new life. I certainly could not understand that as a child. Madeleine was not the loving mother that I always longed for, but she tried…. I know it. She just could not abide anything that was unlovely… anything **_**ugly**_**. She wanted to love me, but she simply could not. At times, I could see the sorrow in her eyes, the frustration that she could not care for her own child. She was too perfect. So, you see, your dreams are completely false. They cannot and will not come true. Madeleine and Charles would have been thrilled to meet you, Christine… thrilled that I had found a woman who could give me what they could not…"**

**There was a long silence between us. I looked unfalteringly into her eyes, allowing my own eyes to communicate the unspoken gift that my mother and father could not give to me, the one thing that I longed for with all of my heart, the precious gift that I somehow knew Christine was capable of giving me as perfect as she was. **_**Love**_**.**

_Love. _Both of us finished his sentence in our minds. I swallowed. Yes, I was capable of loving him. But how could I dare when I loved another? The truth was I didn't hate Erik. Yet, I wouldn't say I loved him either. It was a strange sort of feeling… something I had never experienced before. In a way, it was the same sort of feeling I had for my poor dead father. It couldn't be love… could it?

"I don't know…" I whispered, letting my eyes concentrate on his shirt collar. "I don't know what I feel any more. Papa always told me to follow my heart, but I don't know where it's trying to take me. I used to be so sure… and now I don't know. I just don't know."

"**That is quite alright," I said, smiling faintly. I was infinitely grateful that she did not break our embrace and run away in tears again. That had to be a good sign. She did not hate me; she was not afraid of me. And I was in her dreams too. In her dreams, she searched for that boy, but she also sought for me. "For now, you do not have to know exactly how you feel. In time you will know." **_**I certainly know how I feel.**_

**I stood slowly, and then extended both arms down to her. Placing my hands gently on Christine's waist, I lifted her to her feet. We stood like that for a brief, blissful moment before my hands dropped to my sides.**

"**Come, Christine," I instructed, taking a few steps away from the lake. "The food is doubtless getting cold. I will clean up when we have finished eating. You need to rest. I will not have you becoming ill. You are not afraid anymore, are you?"**

"No. I don't think so." I wiped the remaining tears from my eyes. "I don't really feel like eating just now. You go ahead. I need some time alone." Saying this, I turned and headed for my room.

Once inside, I flopped wearily on the bed. For a long while I lay there in thought. I didn't know myself any more. I felt like I was being torn in two. _Oh Papa, how I wish you were here. _That was it. I had strayed away from him for too long. I needed to go back. Hastily I began dressing for the chill of the outside. I was going to visit my father's grave, and I was going _now._

Review Replies:

blahblahblah27: Wow! That's a fun screen name to write! Glad you like the ECness. Isn't it a wonderful thing? There will be more yet to come. Much more my friends. *grins*

Christine4ever86: *runs and gives her a big hug* Yeah! You reviewed our own story too. Now I don't feel like such a complete idiot. On the subject of Erik's eyes, I believe you simply referred to them as "dark" in all of your Christine writing. That is totally fine with me. When I write Leroux and/or Kay based stories, his eyes are definitely yellow (or golden… because that sounds so much better). However, when I am writing strictly stage version based (which I almost never do outside of role plays) his eyes are mismatched and either one brown and one blue, or one dark blue/green and the other opaque. Since, this story is kind of movie-based, we could call his eyes green… or how about this: green with golden flecks. Oooooooh! I like that…. Whatever you like works though. Imagine them as you will.

I am the Angel of Music: I have seen a variety of eye colors mentioned for both Erik and Christine. I prefer to think that Christine's are blue though. As for Erik's… well, I just wrote a whole paragraph about them above. : ) Glad you're enjoying the story. We love writing it.

katiebabs: Yeah! We have somebody hooked! HEHEHEHE. Glad you like the counterpoint. Susan Kay did it, so I figured we could too. I'm so happy that you still like the story even though it's mostly movie/musical based, as so many others are. Yes, you will be seeing more of Raoul, but not for a few more chapters.

X37: Aw thanks! I have just one co-author. Christine4ever86 does all of the Christine POV writing and I write for Erik. This story started out as just a role play for the two of us, and then I decided to make it into a fan fiction.

brittainypiercy: Eeeeeeeee! Another good review. *does a happy little dance* Thank you! Thank you! Here is that update.

The Cure: Thank you so much, Liane. I'm so glad you are enjoying the story. God bless you too.

Deadly Serenade: Sorry I've made you wait so long for and update. Are you learning patience? : )

Pasque: Thank you so much for your review. I think comparing the darkness of our writing to Leroux is one of the highest compliments we've ever received.

WildPixieChild and Mini Nicka : Thank you. Glad you like it. *blows kisses, then nudges Erik who promptly takes a bow twirling his cape dramatically*


	8. Even a Spider

A/N: Here is the next chapter that all of you have been asking for. It's rather short, but I promise that the next one will be a good one.

Disclaimer: As usual, we don't own these characters. For anyone who hasn't read _Phantom_ by Susan Kay, the little spider belongs to her.

**NightDemoness** and **satinzevi89**: Wow, what screen names. : ) Thanks so much for the reviews. You keep them coming and we'll keep the chapters coming…. Actually, we'll keep them coming anyway, but we do so love to get reviews, so please keep reading and reviewing. Christine4ever86 and I love you all.

Chapter Eight

Even a Spider

**I had no doubt that Christine needed to be alone, as she had said, yet I was still hesitant to allow her to be alone just yet. She had been so frightened a few minutes before. Repeatedly, I reminded myself that she was fine, she wanted to be by herself right now, and my presence would not be at all welcome in her room at the moment. However, I could not feel at ease enough to enjoy my breakfast without her. I picked distractedly at the food for a short time, eating just enough to pacify my meager appetite.**

**When I had finished, I stood and began to clean the kitchen. I saved Christine's plate, hoping that she would reappear from the comforting recess of her room, but she did not. In time, I gave up on that idea. Sighing with an intense frustration, which was threatening to give way to anger at any moment, I shoved her meal into the icebox and slammed the door.**

**As there seemed to be nothing else for me to do, I returned to my organ and picked up where I left off on the piece that I had been working on that morning while Christine prepared our breakfast. I played on, and gradually, the cloud of despair began to lift from me. Soft, gentle melody and harmonies flowed around me as my fingers danced lightly over the keys. This was exactly what I needed.**

A sweet tune greeted my ears as I stepped out of my room. Erik's back was turned to me, and for a moment I listened in silence, a gentle smile playing on my lips. It was heavenly. The organ seemed to have a voice itself as the melody curled and danced beautifully throughout the cavern. Even though he remained silent, his spirit sang through the music, reaching out to touch my soul. If I stood any longer, I would become totally enraptured and my father would be forgotten.

"Erik..." I walked softly over to him, unsure if I should disturb his reverie. He swung around on the organ bench and answered me with his eyes. For a moment I lost my breath. His eyes were shimmering, full of that strange light. Fighting back the feelings that were awakening inside me, I spoke. "I want… I _need_ to visit my father's grave." I was slightly afraid he wouldn't let me go. "Please Erik, I need to go. You can come… I'm not saying you can't. But… I've been away for too long. Please Erik." I struggled to calm my beating heart as I searched his eyes for an answer.

**My lips turned slowly upward as I looked at her. My breathing was coming quite heavily, and I knew the reason for that very well. These feelings were becoming extremely familiar to me, yet somehow they seemed new with their every reoccurrence. Each time that I saw Christine in a new dress, this happened to me. I was mesmerized, entranced by feelings that I seemed to have never experienced before. She had my heart in the palm of her hand.**

**I swallowed thickly and then nodded.**

"**Yes Christine, you may go. Anything that makes you happy, my love." My voice came out in little more than a whisper as I rose, taking a step toward her, my heart hammering at an unbelievable speed. "If you will allow me one moment, I will come with you."**

**She nodded her silent acquiescence, and in a short time we were seated side by side in a carriage on our way to the graveyard where her father was buried. A flesh-colored mask covered most of my face. I could not wear the white half-mask when I went out in the light of day. That one raised suspicion, but this one did not. Really, it looked almost natural from a distance, particularly in the shadow of the hooded cloak which I wore.**

**I stared wordlessly out the window for several minutes, allowing my mind to drift to the last time that Christine and I had made a trip to the same cemetery.**

**_She did not know then that I had accompanied her. I recalled the sorrow in her sweet eyes as she gazed upon her beloved father's grave. I relived the joys of the glorious sound of our voices blending in perfect harmony as we sang together, as I beckoned for her to return to me._ **_**And then there was the boy; his memory haunted me as it disturbed Christine's dreams. That impudent, fool-hardy viscount had rushed in, pretending to be the gallant knight coming to "rescue" his lady. He had warned her to come away with him, had said that I was not her father nor her friend and helper. There had been a clash of swords… my near victory… his near death… a slip of the hand… a sharp blow, and I was on the ground, my sword out of reach. I had not had nearly the practice that I should have to engage in that kind of battle. After all, there was no one with which I could regularly try my skills with the blade. He depended upon his schooling and I upon speed, strength, and natural skill. To the boy it was merely a gentleman's sport, which he now used in an attempt at ridding himself and his love of the one who he took for their greatest enemy. I had been so certain that he would be the one to falter, yet my dexterity was no match for his training. I looked up at him in defiance. Good, he would kill me and my suffering would be over at last. His sword was raised, ready to strike when Christine called out to him: "No Raoul! No… not like this…."**_

**At the time, my wounded pride had brought on such hatred that I did not consider the implications of that plea. But now my mind was filled with questions. Christine had saved my life, but why? Could this mean that she cared for me, even then? She did not want me to die… and she did not truly want me to leave her?**

**Slowly, I turned to face her, looking searchingly into her deep blue eyes. Then I asked the question that was plaguing my mind and heart:**

"**Why did you do it?" She looked at me, perhaps a bit startled by my sudden question, and entirely perplexed. I realized then that she had no idea what I was talking about, and I explained my inquiry. "Christine, you could have been rid of me long ago. That morning in the graveyard… the viscount might have killed me. If you don't mind my asking, why did you stop him?"**

His question took me completely by surprise. Wide-eyed, I stared at the hem of my sleeve, feeling myself growing hot and cold by turns. I did not know myself why I had called out to Raoul. Closing my eyes, I could still vividly feel the anxiety I experienced when both of them were fighting. I could see it all so very clearly….

_I was too much in shock a first to be frightened. It was all unreal. The two men who I knew earnestly loved me were fighting with all they had, dodging the stone grave markers, and meeting each blow with a well-placed block. As I watched them, I didn't know who I should fear for. Raoul I loved with all I had… but… the other man held a strange place in my heart. Terrified, I followed them around the cemetery, watching their every move. I almost shrieked in rage when Raoul was cut sharply on the arm. It was all I could do to keep myself under control. Then, my heart stopped, as I realized Erik was lying on the ground, his sword well out of reach. I froze as Raoul raised his sword to give a final blow, and without stopping to think, I cried out, "No Raoul! No… not like this..." I had watched Erik as we rode away. His eyes had grown black with hate. All the way back to the Opera, I had questioned myself on why I had stopped Raoul. In full possession of my reason, I knew I would have been better off if I had said nothing._

For a while, that morning in the cemetery haunted my thoughts. Why had I done what I did? Though I tried to push the thoughts away, they always loomed in back of my mind, and I knew I would have to face them one day.

Now I was facing them, and I was headed back to where the haunting questions began. I looked again into Erik's wonderfully dark eyes and tried to find the answer in those rich spheres…. But no answer came save the same tingling sensation that always ran down my spine when our eyes met.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I was so scared that morning. I don't know why I stopped Raoul." I took a breath as the thought of the man I loved sent an acute pain to my heart. "I didn't know who I was really afraid for. While you were fighting in hate for one another, I was fighting my own battle of love in my heart. I don't know why I called out…. But I have the feeling that I will know why very soon."

**That was certainly not the answer I was looking for. My brow furrowed as I bowed my head in silent contemplation. A familiar look of anguish had been in her eyes, and I could not bear to look at her. It was the look that meant that she was thinking of Raoul de Chagny. I had seen that look often when Christine was with me, although for the past week either she had done an excellent job of hiding it, or she did not think of him often. I liked to think that the latter was true.**

**Sighing pensively, I stared down at my abnormally long fingers. _You are a fool, Erik,_ I thought to myself. _And I thought that you had gotten past these false hopes. Christine does not love you. She did not save your life out of love. It was an act of kindness… pity…. She is a sweet, compassionate girl who could not bear to see even a spider killed. _When I was a child, I used to imagine that I was a spider….**

**Receding back into the far corner of the brougham and crossing my arms beneath the black folds of my cloak, I allowed my thoughts to wander. Christine had said that she would know very soon why she had saved my life. I wondered how she could be so certain of that fact. I looked at her again. Perhaps she really was falling in love with me…. Perhaps she knew it.**

**My mind had drifted miles away, to thoughts of Christine and what wonders our future might hold, when my eyelids began to grow heavy. The week of Christine's nightmares and little sleep for either of us was wearing on me as well. Before I could stop myself, I was fast asleep. I dreamed, as I used to do as a very little boy, that I was a spider, a black, particularly ugly spider, and extremely venomous.**

_**I sat quietly in a dark corner, looking over my carefully woven web, awaiting my prey. Then it came… the viscount, appearing to me as a helpless little fly. He glanced about cautiously, and then seeing nothing flew directly into my trap. Deftly, I slid along the silken threads. In less than a minute, I had him wrapped tightly in sticky string. With one bite, he was paralyzed. I looked down at him with an oppressive smirk—or the closest thing to that expression that a spider may give—gloating over his defenselessness. It was time for my feast…. And when I had finished gorging myself, Christine came by and saw me. "What a good little spider you are, Erik," she said, reaching up into my web. "You got rid of that nasty fly for me." As venomous as my bite was, she knew that I would never harm her. And with one finger, she stroked me fondly like a beloved pet….**_

Slightly alarmed, I watched as Erik's eyes grew a turbulent black. He moved away from me, brooding. What had I said to make him react in such a manner? I opened my mouth to question his actions, but then I realized that he must have known that I was thinking about Raoul. I became indignant. What right had he to make such a fuss? Of course I would think about Raoul. I loved him. Yet here Erik was, acting offended. I slid to the opposite end of the long seat, let out an annoyed sigh, and stared out the window.

For a while my thoughts whirled around restlessly as I watched the passing buildings and occasional trees. A twinge of regret pricked my conscience. I was acting like a child, pouting when things didn't go as I wanted them to. I had hoped to enjoy the ride, not spend it in seclusion. Turning, I took a peek at Erik. His head rested against the wall of the brougham, and his rhythmic breathing revealed that he was sleeping.

_He must be exhausted from waking up every night for me. _A sad smile played on my lips. He loved me. I could never doubt that for a second. He was working his way into my heart. The fact that I no longer hated him proved that point. I didn't love him… that was too strong of a word… though, I could… might… possibly… say I was growing fond of him. I had to admit this to myself, even if it brought a shock to my senses. Shutting my eyes, I tried to imagine life without Erik. This was something my father taught me. He said if I ever wanted to know what my heart really felt about someone, I was to imagine life without them. I found that many things would have never happened had Erik not existed. I might not have come to know and love Raoul the way I did now. Raoul had seen me sing the night of the gala… and I wouldn't have been singing had it not been for Erik. I tried to imagine life without Raoul…. That I could not do either. I couldn't live without either of these men.

Unconsciously, I had slipped my arm around Erik's arm, and was leaning against him. _What am I to do? _I let my mind wander as I stroked his hand gently. I felt like I was being torn in two…. But I loved Raoul, not Erik, didn't I? That fact that I was slightly unsure of myself appalled me. I should know. I shouldn't be questioning myself. I let my thoughts wander on, hoping that an answer would come soon.


	9. Battle of Love

A/N: I am reposting this chapter. I changed the spelling error; thanks to O.G. for pointing that out. I guess that just proves that I need to use my beta. I do have one now, but Slina hasn't read any of this story yet. She can still proofread though. Check out her author page some time. She has some great stories. Thanks again to all of our reviewers.

Chapter Nine

Battle of Love

**Groaning, I stirred in my sleep as the carriage jostled us over a short rough section in the road. I strained to open my eyes ever so slightly and glanced at the surrounding landscape. We were nearing the cemetery now. Its tall iron gate loomed only a short distance away. A drowsy smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I couldn't help but notice that Christine had nestled up beside me. Her arm was entwined with mine, and she was stroking my hand tenderly.**

**My heart gave a leap. She must have at least some feelings for me. Why else would she have been upset by my refusal to speak to her before I fell asleep? She had been starring exasperatedly out the window on the opposite end of the seat the last that I saw her. And if she did not care for me in the slightest, then why had she forgiven my brooding so quickly? Why was she willingly caressing my hand, leaning on my shoulder?**

"**We are almost there," I murmured groggily, looking at her through half-closed eyes.**

**When she returned my glance, I thought that I saw a hint of a smile on her lips. Although she did not appear to mind the fact that I had slept through most of the carriage ride, I thought it only proper to apologize.**

"**I am dreadfully sorry, my dear," I said, turning my hand over and sliding my bony fingers between her perfect ones. "I certainly didn't mean to fall asleep like that. Forgive me. I am afraid that this week has left me completely drained of all energy." Attempting in vain to hide my weariness, I lifted my head, stifling a yawn with the back of my free hand. "I promise that I will do better on the way home."**

**Smiling, I lowered my head to rest on top of hers. I could smell the tantalizing fragrance of her hair with my every breath. This sweet moment could only last a little while longer; we would arrive at the graveyard soon. But going to see her father's grave was important to Christine, and I would see that she had whatever she wanted.**

"**Would you like me to go with you," I asked softly as the brougham came to a stop, "or shall I stay here while you visit your father?"**

"You can come find me in about fifteen minutes. I would like to be alone for a little while." After Erik had helped me down from the carriage, I slowly made my way to the mausoleum. Waves of memory washed over me as I wandered among the cold gravestones. It was all like that one fateful morning… the cold, worn statues, the gray monuments, the biting chill…. There was but one thing different. The sky was no longer shrouded in a dull haze, but was now a beautiful clear blue. The early morning rays of sun shone brightly, making the newly fallen snow sparkle like jewels over the graveyard.

_We sat before a warm fire, my father playing upon his violin, and I seated on a footstool, leaning against his knee in rapturous delight. The last note of the violin faded away, and he gently laid his beloved instrument on the floor. "Papa, what is that pretty song you just played?" Smiling, my father placed me upon his lap and kissed my curls. "That, my dear Christine, was the song I am writing for you. Someday I shall have to leave you, and then, when you are a woman my darling, you shall sing this song to me, and I shall hear… no matter how far away I may be. For I know you will sing beautifully… just like your lovely mama did." His face twisted into lines of sorrow, and he stared into the fire. I became alarmed at his graveness, and I threw my arms around his neck tightly._

_"No Papa, you shall not leave me. Why must you go away? I love you… and I will have no one to play the violin for me." A tear rolled down my cheek._

_Gently disengaging my arms, he gazed sadly into my eyes. "When, my darling, you are grown, you will have someone else to love, someone else to play for you, and you will forget about your papa. So, I am writing a song for you to sing to me when you are grown, and when you are forgetting." I looked at him, my young eyes wide in wonder. Sensing my fear, he again placed his violin under his chin and played a spinning reel, which set me dancing on the carpet in front of him… all fears forgotten._

_Two months later, my father died. I never forgot what he has said that night. He had finished the song, and had given the manuscript, tied with a red ribbon, to me a few days before he had passed on. The music came along with me when Madame Giry brought me to the Opera Populare and held a special place in the top of my clothes drawer. Years flew by, and I never untied that ribbon. Only a few weeks before the opening of Hannibal, did I decide to read the manuscript. I lay across the bed, reading the words first._

"_Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could." Spots of dried tears were scattered all over the papers. He had written this about my mother. My own tears joined the old ones on the manuscript as I read on. "Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions. You were warm and gentle. Too many years fighting back tears. Why can't the past just die? Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive. Teach me to live. Give me the strength to try. No more memories, no more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years. Help me say goodbye." By the time I was finished reading, I was sobbing. When I regained my composure, I reached for a pen and ink and added my own verse to the top of the first page. "You were once my one companion. You were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father…. Then my world was shattered." I sat smiling through my fresh tears. There Papa, when I get the chance, I will go sing it to you. When no one was around, I took the music to the stage piano and played, determined to learn the music quickly. I did not need to fear, for the melody seemed to be built into me, and in one sitting, I learned the music as well as the words._

The mausoleum in sight, I remembered the time, a few weeks before when I had sung his song for the first time. Yes, that song had helped me forget. But I had forgotten too soon… and now I was returning. I still needed him. Hot tears warmed my cold cheeks as I remembered my father's words that one night. "When, my darling, you are grown, you will have someone else to love, someone else to play for you, and you will forget about your papa."

I stared up at the stone building, sinking to the ground at the top of the steps. "Papa, I don't know if I have found someone to love…. I mean, I have… but… I don't know. I'm divided…. I think… Oh papa, I don't know!" I sobbed into my hands. _"…someone else to play for you… someone else to play for you…"_ I moaned inwardly. Both could play the violin with expertise. Raoul's parents had wanted their son to share their love for music, and had invested in violin lessons from his youth. "Papa… what am I to do?" I could no longer hold back my emotions, and I began to sob hysterically.

"Papa, I don't know what to do anymore! I need you! Who do I really love? I need you to tell me!"

**I watched placidly as Christine disappeared amongst the vast and numerous headstones, a wave of inexplicable peace washing over my entire being. By all rights, I should never have allowed her to wander such an enormous maze unaccompanied, yet somehow I did not even suspect that she might try to run away. She was happy here where she could visit her beloved papa's grave.**

**A gentle sigh passed from my lips. I longed to know more about this man whom she loved with all of her heart. At the time, I knew little more than his name, the fact that he was a great violinist, and that he had promised to send her the Angel of Music when he died. It was very little to go on, but Christine might be willing to share more. Perhaps if I knew more of him, in time, I would become like him in ways, and then Christine would love me too. At that thought, a single tear slipped down my cheek, leaving its salty trail beneath the mask. I shook my head sadly. _No,_ I corrected my foolish thoughts, _I do not want her to love me as a living shrine to her father's soul. I want her to know me, to love me for myself. She will love me for myself…someday… she must._**

**Straightening my body to its full height, I reached within the carriage and withdrew a small back case from the spot where I had concealed it beneath the seat. My violin. After informing the driver that we would return in a few minutes, I set out in the opposite direction. I too had someone to visit in the cemetery. It had been many months since I had come to play for her. To long… far too long.**

**When I had reached the far right corner of the graveyard, I stopped. My gaze swept the surrounding area and then came to rest upon a tall, ashen figure. The large tombstone had been carved into the form of an angel. Her features were smooth, slim—but not overly thin by any means—lovely, compelling, near perfection in every aspect. That sculpture was indeed one of my finest pieces of work. Though I had not been allowed to attend the interment, I had felt that I must have some part in it, and this ornate marker had been my last gift to her.**

**Lowering myself to one knee, I lay my treasured instrument carefully on the snow-covered ground. Then I reached inside my cloak and removed a small, pink carnation. They were her favorite flowers. I placed the lone blossom at the base of the gravestone, and then with tears streaming down the uneven surface of my face, I pressed a timid kiss to the cold, hard stone. For several minutes, I wept in silence, unable to tear myself away from the piece of stone that held so many painful memories. Then at last I lifted my head, gazing upward. The inscription, which I knew by heart—for I had carved it myself—was nearly unreadable through my tear-clouded eyes.**

"**Madeleine Garron**

**1814-1868**

**Cherished wife and venerated mother"**

**With trembling limbs, I stood and wiped away a few of my tears, although they still continued to fall freely. I took a deep breath, then released it. When my weeping was somewhat under control, I removed my violin from its case and positioned the precious instrument beneath my chin.**

"**I've come to play for you, Mamma." The voice that came from my own lips surprised me. It was trembling, almost childlike, weak and vulnerable, yet that was how I felt whenever I thought of my mother. Powerless. She was like a goddess or a distant and beautiful star, forever out of my reach. "I can only stay for a few minutes. What would you like to hear today?" I thought for a moment and then began to play. The song was one of my early compositions. I had written it when I was just a child, a birthday present for my mother. She had always loved this piece. My music was one of the few ways that I could please her. I called the song simply "Madeleine."**

For a while I leaned on the steps, sobbing and choking on my tears. I gasped for breath, trying to get myself under control. Then, through my tears, a sound reached my ears. A bittersweet melody played on a violin drifted around the cemetery. Instantly I stopped crying, and I listened closely. _Papa…. _I placed my hands on my hair and twisted it through my fingers. _No, it can't be him…. I'm hearing things…. _Frantically, I rose and stumbled towards the music…. It had to stop…. I would go crazy.

The heat of the sun had warmed the snow, and a steam had risen above the ground making it hard to see clearly. Slowly, I picked my way around the graves, my heart beating fiercely. _I have to make it stop. _Closer and closer I came to the music, but I just couldn't find it. Suddenly, I froze. _My dream… my dream… it's the same… it is Erik. __**He **__is playing the violin. _Terror seized me, and I stumbled madly around the graveyard with one thing in my mind… _I have to find him… have too…_

Just as I was about to give up, I heard the music right in front of me, and through the mist, I saw him. He was facing a statue, lost in his music. I squinted, reading the name on the statue. _His mother. _I stood rooted to the ground, as everything seemed to fit together. _"…Someone else to love, someone else to play for you…. found a woman who could give me what they could not… Madeleine looked like you… very much like you, Christine..." _Tremendous shock shook my frame, and I could not move. _How can I love Erik when I love Raoul? It can't be true…. _As much as I tried to deny it, the past was speaking to me, telling me that we were meant for each other. Tears began to stream down my face, as I could no longer fight the truth. I _did _love Erik. I just didn't want to. I was scared to. Scared to stop loving Raoul.

"Erik..." I moaned softly.

**The beguiling sound of a familiar, feminine voice speaking my name startled me out of my delirium. A sudden, sharp, and offensively screeching note came from my violin, ending the haunting melody several measures early, not at all as it was written. Lowering the instrument swiftly to my side, I spun on my heel and glanced about the misty expanse of the graveyard. I did not have to look far to locate the source of that voice. My eyes fell at once upon Christine, who was standing close behind me, and I stared at her for several moments, still in shock. I didn't know at first if I was merely surprised by her sudden appearance, or if it was something more that had caught my attention. I studied her carefully, my head tilting slightly to one side. It was her eyes. There was something new in those blue spheres, something wonderful, something that did strange things to me. It was something that sent my heart pounding wildly, stirring all of my feelings for her into a sudden, muddled confusion. It was something that told me I would not be alone forever. Something that spoke of love.**

"**Christine…" My breath caught in my throat, and I could speak nothing more than her sweet name. Slowly, I returned my violin to its case and walked toward her. _And the way that she said my name…_ I mused to myself. _This has to be love…. This is how it feels to love and be loved._**

**I stepped nearer until we stood only a few inches apart, and I then drew her small frame in toward me. Closer… I needed to be closer to my Christine…. I needed her… now…. My breathing became heavy and labored as my head began to spin in a red mist of thoughts and yearnings. The world had faded away. There was no scene, no time, no forces of any kind to hold us apart, and only we two existed. Without stopping to think, I crushed her body to my own, our lips separated by a mere fraction of an inch. A tremor ran through my entire body, a sweet surge of delighted anticipation, followed closely by a jolt of fear. _What if she isn't ready for this? What if I kiss her, and she pushes me away? _My heart shuddered. I couldn't… not until she offered her lips to me of her own accord.**

**Expelling a regretful sigh, I released her. "Pardon me, my dear. I seem to have gotten a bit carried away. It must have been the music…" My breathing was still quite intense, and my voice sounded almost foreign to my own ears, husky with unfulfilled desire. Certainly, far more than the music I had been playing had caused me to act in such a fashion. "If you would care to return to the carriage, I will join you in a moment. It is warmer there."**

**Without another word, I turned my attention back to the stone before me. Once again, I knelt and kissed the statue's feet. I then turned to the simple column to my left, placing a matching pink carnation at its base. A smile replaced my tears as I fixed my eyes upon my parents' graves. "Did you see her, Mamma, Papa?" I whispered, gazing heavenward. "That is my Christine, and we are in love. We will be back someday, and I will play for you again. I love you both very much. A revoir."**

**Gathering my violin in its case, fastening its latch, and cradling the case like a precious child, I made my way back toward the awaiting brougham. I found Christine inside, as I had instructed. A delighted smile played on my lips as I sat down beside her. "To the Paris Opera," I called to our driver. "But please take your time in getting there."**

**As the horses started off in a slow, rhythmic stride, I deposited my instrument on the floor beside my feet. I folded my hands in my lap, thinking it best to spend at least the first part of the journey keeping my hands to myself, for the sake of my own self-control. Then my eyes moved to lock with Christine's. "You discovered something while you were talking to your father," I stated slowly. "If you wouldn't mind sharing, I am extremely interested in knowing what it was. You said that you would know very soon why you cried out to save me. Do you know now, Christine? Has your battle of love finally been won?"**

In slight annoyance, I closed my eyes. He _always _knew what my thoughts were. I had not yet recovered from the shock which seemed to explode inside of me when he had held me just moments before. The breath had been knocked out of me as I came in contact with his body. I had felt weak as the hard muscles of his thighs pressed tightly up against my legs. Stifling a moan, I tried to control myself as my senses were one by one overloaded with his touch, and I shuddered. It was getting harder for me to breathe, and I grasped the edges of his cloak to steady myself. His eyes were flaming with that dark, mysterious fire that had always enchanted me. I bent my face up to his…. He was so close…. He was going to kiss me, and I was going to let him. My lips parted, ready to feel his mouth against mine….

Just as my eyes were closing, he released me. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as he mumbled an apology. _No, don't be sorry. _The tone of his voice, his eyes, all showed that he wanted me badly, but he was hesitant. I turned, intending to return to the carriage as I was bidden, when his voice caught my ear. "That is my Christine, and we are in love." An intense shiver ran up my spine as I walked towards the waiting carriage. _We are… we are in love. There is no denying it. If I try to make myself stop loving him, I will be miserable…. That's why I have been miserable for these past few weeks. I have been trying to ignore my true feelings._

Seated in the slow moving carriage, I re-opened my eyes. Yes, my battle had been won. I knew that my heart belonged to the man beside me. But I also loved Raoul. How was I to forget Raoul? Yes, I loved them both, but I loved Erik more. I dared not let him know. I was not ready to let him know. I had to let Raoul go first. Then I could love Erik freely without any guilt. _I might start by getting married…. _I was startled at my own thoughts. I was not ready for that… yet. _When the time comes to marry Erik, I want to be able to give him my whole heart, and right now, part of my heart belongs to someone else._ That's what I would do. I would wait until I no longer cared for Raoul, and then I could tell Erik that I loved him. It was like a tremendous load was lifted off my back. I knew what to do now.

"Yes, I know who I really love_._"_ I'm going to betray myself through my eyes._ I looked at Erik, and tried to maintain a blank face. Making a great effort to smile normally, I slid over to him and leaned against his shoulder. "Everything is going to work out wonderfully." I sighed, contented.

**The look in her eyes was utterly unreadable. That fact left me wholly frustrated. I could not seem to decipher it no matter how much effort I put to the matter, and in time I was forced to give up all together. Yes, her battle of love had been won, but by whom? She did not wish for me to know the answer to that question. Perhaps she did not wish to wound me with the truth. Yet for a brief, glorious moment, before Christine had put on that emotionless façade, I had seen a glimpse of that sweet smile, the same look that she had given me in the cemetery. That look which I could only take to be love. _Reciprocated love._ It was nothing like the love that I saw in her eyes for that boy, but why did it have to be? _Perhaps her love for me is stronger._ _Of course, her feelings are different. This is true love, not some childish fancy._ My heart fluttered uncontrollably at that thought, though I had little reason to expect that it was the truth. Still I was beginning to hope.**

**With a sigh of my own, I relaxed back against the seat, wrapping my left arm around Christine's shoulders and taking her hand in my right. Although at any other time, her hasty dismissal of my question might have aroused my suspicions, I found instead that her words gave me peace and assurance. Christine was right; everything would work out perfectly.**

**We began to talk, really about nothing in particular, about the weather, snow-covered trees, early spring flowers, and various buildings along the way. And in what seemed to be very little time we were back in Paris.**

"**Christine, tell me about your childhood?" My request, and sudden turn of our conversation, was rather abrupt, so I followed it with a simple explanation. "I want to know everything about you." I was quite surprised by the words that I was allowing myself to say, but my new discovery of Christine's affections had left me practically giddy. "I have told you about my past, and I do not speak freely of it with others. You see, it is painful for me. But now I want to know about your past. I want you to tell me about your father and his violin, and those days that you lived by the sea. I want to know what you enjoy doing on warm summer days, and on cool rainy mornings, and when the world is covered in snow. I want to know what flowers are your favorites… what you like to eat… what you do in your spare time... If you could travel to any place in the world, where would it be?"**

**I knew that she could not answer so many questions at once, but I did not care. In time I would learn the answers to every one, and more. Everything was going to work out perfectly. So engrossed was I in the pleasure of her company, that I did not see a shadow leaning against a nearby lamppost. The shadow of another man.**


	10. A Painful Ordeal

A/N: I'm finally posting this chapter. The man in the shadows immerges. Mwahahahahaha! Please send your reviews. I will try to update regularly, but unfortunately the writing process is going kind of slowly right now. My co-author and I are both in college, and she still hasn't sent me the next part to chapter 14. Yes, we are currently writing chapter fourteen. I just want to space out the next three chapters so that hopefully, when we finally do post 13, 14 will be done too.

Chapter Ten

A Painful Ordeal

I leaned forward towards the open window, a little perturbed by the flurry of questions that Erik had posed to me. Remaining silent for a while, my eyes came to rest on a man's form a little in the distance. With nothing else to occupy my gaze, I kept my eyes on him as the brougham's slow pace brought us closer and closer. His well-dressed form was leaning against a lamppost, in what seemed a dejected attitude. _Poor man, he looks as if he just lost his lover. _When we were a few yards away, I was able to make out the man's features. I gasped, clutching the leather seat in utter shock. _Raoul! It is him! It can only be him!_

"Raoul!" The surprised cry of his name flew out of my lips before I had time to think. He had heard, and was looking about wildly, in search of the voice that had called him. My heart was hammering within me, and I felt my head beginning to swim. Just as the carriage passed, he glanced into the window, and a flash of recognition passed instantly across his face.

"Christine!" He broke into a run, trying to catch up with the carriage.

"Raoul! Oh, Raoul!" I leaned dangerously out the window. I needed to tell him. I needed to tell him who I really loved. A jerk from Erik's arm pulled me back inside. "Erik, please make the driver stop! I need to tell him! Erik, _please_!"

"**Tell him what?" I asked in a voice that came out more as a low growl than anything else. The severe hurt that had flickered in my heart at her request had quickly transformed into pure rage. "Tell him how miserable you have been with me, and how you love him, and how you plan to escape? Everything is going to work out wonderfully! _Indeed!_ Christine, did you honestly expect me to wait patiently here as you were reunited with your lover, as you two schemed on where and when your flight would be made? I think _not_!"**

**Tightening my hold on Christine's arm, I turned my attention to the cabbie. "Driver! There is a man attempting to run down and overcome this carriage. Do not be deceived by his clothing. I know him for a vagabond and a thief." The Vicomte de Chagny was a thief indeed, for he had stolen the one thing that I treasured most: the heart of the woman I adored. "Hurry man! We must lose him!"**

**My lips fixed in a grim line as I loosened my grasp and then I released Christine all together. For once, I did not wish to touch her. An instant later, all blinds were closed, blocking out the harsh light and shielding us from the sight of that boy. The carriage sped away, and I turned to face the darkly curtained wall. Heedless to Christine's protesting cries, I sunk back into the seat, folding my arms and allowing my mind to slip into an ominous, detached state of malevolent brooding.**

Wildly, I shrieked in fury. I did not wish to escape. I only wanted to release Raoul of our engagement. Of course, Erik didn't know that, but in my anger, I failed to realize his ignorance. How dare he not listen to my request? I clenched my fists, boiling.

"There was no reason for you to go off in a rage like that!" I seethed, kneeling on the seat next to him, trying to get his attention. "How could you think that I would try to escape?! And who said I was miserable? Did I give any indication that I was miserable with you? All you think about is yourself... that's all you think about! You would think, by the way you act, I belonged to you!" By now, I was shaking with passion. The fact that he was ignoring me didn't help soothe my heated emotions. "Well, I don't yet, and don't you forget that! And I might never belong to you in the first place! What right have you to be telling me who I will and will not speak to?! I don't know if any woman would love you anyway, even if you weren't in the state that you're in! How dare you! You're so self-centered! Heaven forbid that your woman even thinks about talking to another man! Who would want to be your wife anyway? Say goodbye to all freedom!" I could see Erik's eyes growing dark, and his body growing tense. "You're not listening to me! Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Raw fury took over me, and I slapped him across the face. The instant I did so, I regretted my actions.

**A resounding slap to my left cheek brought me instantaneously out of my black stupor. Even through the full mask, it stung blatantly. With renewed furry, I turned to Christine fighting to keep my own wrath in check. I would not strike her. I could not. Even in rage, familiar longings stirred in my heart at the sight of my beloved. The fire of anger blazing in her eyes, like two blue flames, only served to enhance her spectacular beauty, arousing fresh desires. Despite my best efforts, my first response was the sudden, unbidden yearning to take her into my arms and kiss away all traces of anger and bitter sorrow from both of our hearts. But I would not allow myself that liberty. It would do no good. It would not resolve anything. Most likely, it would only earn me another slap.**

"**You do belong to me," I told her coolly. "You gave your word that you would be mine. We are engaged to be married, Christine. And I do not care to discuss this matter any further until we are home."**

**Christine was wise enough to obey that command. The rest of our journey was passed in solemn silence. When we arrived at the Opera I stepped out of the carriage, helped my lady to the ground, and then removed my precious violin with an outward calm completely contrasting our silent inner turmoil. I paid our driver and thanked him. Then, taking Christine by the hand, I strode quickly toward the back entrance. Our pace did not slow until we came to the lake. There, at the edge of its shimmering waters, I stopped to look at the woman beside me, placing my instrument on the floor of the boat. A soft cerulean glow reflecting off the lake bathed her face in its light. She was gorgeous, but I would not allow the sight of her to soften the blows of her words in the carriage.**

"**Mademoiselle," I said, taking hold of both her shoulders, "you will not strike me a second time. And you will never speak to me like that again." My voice was rising, and I did not attempt to control my emotions any longer. "_Never_! Do you hear me, Christine? I will _not_ have it!"**

The carriage ride back to the Opera had somewhat eased my anger, and I had started to regret the words that I had spoken. I was ready for the argument to come to an end, but Erik's raised voice and vice-like grip on my shoulders, immediately rekindled my rage.

"Well, you're going to! It's about time someone stood up to you! What makes you think that you have the right to go off in a rage at someone who doesn't give into your every whim? And what are you going to do? Kill me like all the others who interfered with your precious plans?" I struggled in his grasp, trying to get free. "I almost think that death would be better than to live with an egotistical bastard such as yourself! Raoul is a much better man than you'll ever be." I fought to get loose, my conscience pricking me for being too harsh. Erik's eyes showed the hurt and anger that my words had produced. That look in his eyes made me melt, and I was on the verge of tears. But no, I couldn't let him have the victory of seeing me cry. I pushed against his chest, trying to loosen his grasp.

I was getting tired, and my head ached terribly. No matter how hard I tried to keep myself under control, hot tears began to roll down my face, and before long, I was sobbing into Erik's shirt.

**Closing my eyes, I stood motionless as Christine wept, believing wholeheartedly that she meant every word of that little speech. The fact that she was crying in my arms did little to ease the agony that her words had brought to my throbbing chest. My heart was bleeding, breaking. The pain was so real, so physical, that I fully expected it to kill me at any moment. I would have much preferred that she hit me again and remain silent.**

**_A whim?_ I thought to myself, as tears of anguish began to stream down my own cheeks. _Is that what she thinks of my feelings for her?_ Was it a whim that drew us together in the graveyard, a momentary inclination that brought that expression of love into her eyes? The memory of her words tormented me. _"…Death would be better than to live with an egotistical bastard such as yourself!_ _Raoul is a much better man than you'll ever be."_ For a few wonderful minutes that morning, I had dreamed that Christine Daaé returned my feelings, but my reverie was shattered now. The pretense of her love for me had vanished at the sight of her lover. I cursed myself a thousand times for falling for that ruse. She did not love me. In all probability, she never would. No one could love me.**

**Curse the woman! She was still crying, clinging to me as if she expected me to comfort her, perhaps visualizing the vicomte in my stead. I could not take another minuet of this.**

**My shoulders stiffened, and I backed slowly away. "Come, Christine," I instructed in a hushed tone. Pausing, I extended a hand to her. My eyes trailed to the floor. I would not look into those accusing eyes. Then, for the first time, I noticed that the hem of her garment was drenched. She too had been kneeling in the snow. "You are wet, covered in snow," I murmured. "We must get you out of that dress and into something dry."**

**She took my hand, and I guided her to the boat, helping her into a comfortable sitting position at my feet. When that was done, I began to poll along the subterranean waters, my strokes as quick and uncalculated as the beating of my disenchanted heart. My eyes moved from the blue lake, and settled upon my beloved. In my mind, I could hear her questioning even my thoughts_. "What right do you have to call me your beloved?"_ Thankfully, she could not read my thoughts.**

**She sat there in silence. _Silence_. It was driving me mad! Christine Daaé would be the death of me yet. If she could not love me, then my life was worthless. The sweet vision of love had come to me only a short time ago in her heavenly eyes, and now it was gone. Her cruel words had driven away all my hopes that she could care for me. But what were her true feelings? She was constantly contradicting herself in action as well as in word… so like a woman. If my question would produce yet another argument, then so be it. I had to know the answer, and I would know it now.**

"**Christine, did you mean all that you just said?" I asked. My voice quavered beyond all control. "Do you…" It was almost too terrible to say; yet I had to ask. "Do you hate me? Do you loathe me so much that you would rather see yourself dead than become my bride?"**

I dug my nails into the folds of my dress. _No, I didn't mean a word I said, and no, I don't hate you. Quite the opposite. I know I love you, but I can't bring myself to believe it, much less tell you._ I couldn't bear to look at him. The pain in his voice showed me how deeply I had hurt him.

"No…." My voice was almost inaudible. "I… I'm sorry I said those things to you. I didn't mean it…. You're… I…" I wasn't ready to tell him that I loved him, even though my heart ached to do so. Bravely, I took a long breath, keeping my eyes on the water. What I was about to say was not going to be easy. "What I said about Raoul… I didn't mean it…. You're… you're… better… than he is. You're the kind of man… I… dreamed of having." _He couldn't believe me now… not after I was so cruel._

**A sudden thrill ran throughout my entire body. My heart pounded fiercely, and for one sweet moment, I believed her. _She is ready,_ I thought joyfully. _We can be married now. That will fulfill both of our dreams._ A smile crept over my lips as I froze in place, the poll motionless in my trembling hands. The lake seemed to be spinning around us; then it faded completely from view. I could see only Christine in my mind's eyes, dressed in her wedding gown, seated on the edge of the swan bed and reaching out for me with a smile of purest adoration on her perfect lips. In that euphoric state I wanted nothing more than to take my place beside her, and to draw her into my arms… to feel her soft lips moving against mine. I wanted to lie slowly back, taking her with me… to experience the pleasure of her warm, soft, exquisitely molded body nestling closer and closer until there was no space left between us. I longed to feel her thighs straddling my hips, and to slowly ease her onto her back… to feel those familiar, exhilarating yearnings… to undo that long row of buttons on her gown… to lose myself wholly in her embrace of love….**

**For that wonderful moment, I imagined that my fondest dreams were about to become realities. Christine was fulfilling them all now, if she spoke the truth. Her love was all that I lived for, and if she truly loved me, she would become my wife.**

**But why did she not look at me as she spoke? A frown creased my brow beneath the mask. There was only one answer to that question: she was lying. She had spoken her heart a few minutes ago. Those unfeeling words were more than proof that she cared nothing for me, and her apology was merely another falsehood. Christine was only saying these things to appease me, fearing my tears—although I could never understand why she dreaded so ardently to see me weeping—and fearing my anger.**

**Releasing a long, mournful sigh, I plunged the poll again into the dark, sapphire waters. I kept my eyes fixed upon the passageway ahead as I propelled the small craft hastily onward, not daring to look at Christine again. She would not see my tears or my anger; I would keep them to myself. _Love does strange things to a man,_ I pondered. _Who would have thought that one day I could be so dependent upon a girl?_ She really was only a child. Doubtless, I was at least twenty years her senior, old enough to be her father. But still I loved her, loved her and wanted her with all of my being.**

**Soon, the boat glided beneath the rising gate. I brought the craft almost mechanically to a stop at the shore, and stepped out, offering an arm to Christine with equal impassiveness. The remainder of our journey had passed before either of us had spoken another word. I did not look at her as she took my proffered arm. Instead, I helped her out, gazing down at my violin case, immediately detaching her hold on me when she was safely on dry ground, and gathering the instrument lovingly in my arms. It would be my comfort now. I would take refuge in my music, as I so often did.**

**After lowering the gate, I strode toward my room, and then stopped a few feet from the red velvet curtain. "Now Christine," I said, turning to look at her, but still not allowing our eyes to meet, "I expect you to change out of that wet gown, and then you are to take a warm bath." The last thing that I wanted now was for her to become ill. I could treat her, but after all that she had said to me it would be a painful ordeal for both of us. It had already been a painful ordeal. I was certain that the hurt would not heal, and it was best to avoid one another's presence at least until my anger had cooled. "If you need anything, I will be in my room. But I do not wish to be disturbed unless it is absolutely necessary. I will not be joining you for luncheon, and most likely I will not require any dinner either."**

**My gaze swept the room by way of a quick inspection and then came to rest on a table to her right holding a decanter of brandy and a large glass. A bitter smile formed on my lips. That would be my next resort of consolation. If I found that I could not bury my sorrow in my music, I would have the liquor with me. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to look into Christine's stunning blue ones. There was a look of distress on her lovely face as I walked past her to the table and collected the decanter and glass in one hand.**

"**These are all that I will be needing for a few hours." I indicated the drink and my instrument. "I trust that you will find some way to occupy yourself this afternoon."**

"Yes, I will." With that, I turned and went to my room, half slamming the door behind me. He _was_ hurt. I saw it in his eyes. It was obvious that he did not believe the things I had just told him in the boat. I strode over to the vanity and began to remove my hairpins, tossing them angrily on the floor. So he was going to sulk was he? Trying to make me feel guilty like all of this was my fault? Brooding, I undressed and got ready for my bath.

I sank into the warm bath water, sighing contentedly. Soon, the warmness calmed my agitated nerves, and I began to regret my sharp words. It really wasn't his fault. He was just afraid of losing me. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I deserved to feel guilty. How was I going to make him believe that I did not mean what I said? If he hadn't shut himself up in his room, I would go now and beg his forgiveness… but it would be useless. Worried, I got out of the bath, wrapped myself in a robe, and returned to my room. _What was I going to do?_

Rummaging through my dresser, I looked for something to wear. One of the drawers held a large assortment of under-things and lingerie. I blushed, remembering how Erik had purchased them. A playful smile curled on my lips. He knew what I liked. Laughing at my thoughts, I reached for some things, and soon was clad in white lace and a lighter robe. It was almost the same thing I wore the first time I met Erik. I smiled, brushing my hair, while remembering the hypnotizing song he had sung to me that night. _Will he ever sing to me like that again after how much I hurt him? _A chill ran down my spine as I re-lived how he had held me.

That was the first time I had felt that way… that warmth in my lower body… that need for more. I always felt like that when Erik held me, and I knew he felt the same. Who knows if he would ever hold me like that again? _How could I have been so cruel? Maybe, if I went to him… maybe if I let him_—my cheeks flamed crimson. I wasn't ready for that. Not now, it was too soon. Oh, but how else could I get him to know that I was sorry? Slamming the brush down on the vanity, I sat on the bed, leaning back against the fluffy pillows, frowning. I wanted him to hold me, wanted him to tell me that everything was alright, wanted to feel his strong arms around me, wanted to rest my head on his chest, wanted to feel his lips consume mine…. Now _that _was going too far. I pouted. But I did. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and at this rate that wasn't about to happen. Frustrated, I buried my face in a pillow. How could I go from despising him to loving him in such a short time? Maybe it was because I never really despised him…. I didn't know. I felt like screaming. This was all going too fast for me to get used to.

Snatches of Erik's violin playing reached my ears, and I twisted the blankets in my fingers. I wanted to be with him right now. I could start shrieking…. That would bring him running. _Christine, you're acting like a child! _I laughed. This was ridiculous. I was going to go crazy, and I didn't know why. I could have cried, screamed, and laughed all at the same time, but instead I decided to relieve my whirling brain by trying to sleep.


	11. Obtaining the Unobtainable

A/N: Whew! Life has been crazy lately, but that's college for you. I finally have time to post the next chapter, although sadly we are no further on chapter 14 than the last time that I posted. Sorry for the long wait. Hope you all enjoy this new chapter. More surprises are still to come.

A/N2: 8/22/07 I have done a little editing of this chapter. Hopefully Christine seems a bit less aggressive now.

Chapter Eleven

Obtaining the Unobtainable

**Slowly, I opened my eyes as the last notes of my new concerto in f sharp minor drifted into silence. I would have to write that down sometime. If I still remembered it in a few days, then perhaps it was worth writing. When it was complete, I would have to play if for Christine. She would like that. _Christine._ Why did that name constantly appear in my thoughts? She hated me. She had deluded me for an entire week into thinking that she was gradually falling in love with me, and now the dreadful truth had come out. She despised me and loved that fool of a vicomte. And still, I found myself musing on the subject of what she was doing at the moment.**

**The sound of water draining back into the lake through my carefully devised system of running water had long since disappeared. So she had finished her bath. Perhaps she was reading now, seated in my favorite chair in the library pouring over some book or another. That picture was indeed a pleasant one. She would be dressed in little more than some frilly undergarments and a thin robe. The very thought sent a tremor of yearning throughout my entire body. I wanted, _needed_ to be with her now. But she did not want to be with me, I reminded myself. She hated me.**

**I closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to shut out the images of Christine that seemed to be forever engraved upon my mind. The feelings that they evoked were most unwelcome at the moment. Still I could see her. She looked very much as she had on the first evening that I had taken her to my home. Stunning, dazzlingly beautiful, attractive, appealing, charming, pleasing, tempting, alluring, irresistible… But there was something in her eyes, something that I could not erase from my mind, that look of loathing. Christine was like Madeleine in every way. Perfect and unobtainable. Perhaps that was why I wanted her so much. But how does one go about obtaining the unobtainable?**

**Uttering a curse beneath my breath, I forced my mind back to the matter of my music. I placed my violin back into its case and then locked the instrument securely away in its usual repository, an overhead cabinet where it was safe from my erratic fits of rage. A faint smile worked at the corners of my mouth as my eyes fell upon the welcome sight of the brandy. Clearly, I would need that now, perhaps all of it. If that was what it would take to erase Christine's cruelty from my memory, then I was more than willing to consume every drop of the liquor. Taking the goblet and the decanter with me, I moved resolutely to my writing desk. I would notate the concerto now, for in a few hours I would remember nothing.**

**I took a seat and then poured myself a glass of the deep brown liquid. Sipping at the fluid sparingly, I began to put the notes of my new plaintive melody in written form. The solo score was completed in little time. Setting it aside, I turned to my now empty glass, refilling it, and then draining its contents in a single swallow. I would fill in the remainder of the orchestrations of my piece at another time. For now, my only business was to forget. Forget that there was a beautiful woman in my house, forget that I was in love with her, forget that she cared nothing for me and that she loved another man, forget the dull aching sensation that stood where my heart had once been… simply forget.**

I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. Something was wrong. But what? A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Erik. We had a fight. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I slid to the edge of the bed. I had no idea when he would talk to me again. Hopefully, he had come out of his room when I was sleeping so I could apologize. Maybe he was in the kitchen, waiting for me! I rose and hurried out of my room. He wasn't there.

Sighing, I returned to my room. He was still upset, and it was my own fault that I was alone. No doubt he had drowned himself in the brandy. I wouldn't have minded drinking some myself at that point. I wanted desperately to see him, but I knew it was wise to stay away when he was in that mood of his. If only I hadn't seen Raoul. None of this would have happened. Rolling back under the blankets, I debated what to do. Should I go talk to him, or should I leave him be and wait? Maybe waiting was the best thing. A pang of hunger made me glance at the clock that was sitting on the bedside table. It was a quarter after six.

A little while later, I left the kitchen, satisfied with the little that I had to eat. I really didn't have any appetite when I was thinking about Erik. Slowly, I walked up the steps to the organ and seated myself on the bench, looking out over the lake. What was there to do? There was a bounty of artist utensils… but I could neither draw nor paint. And I didn't dare touch the organ. _What does a person do when he is by himself in a cavern under an opera house?_

Just then, I realized how Erik must have felt during all those years of living alone. True, there was his music and his art, but how much of that can one do? I imagined him watching me from behind my mirror, daring to hope that at last he had found someone who could love him. How he must have suffered when he saw that I did not reciprocate his love. He didn't give up, not even when he knew that I loved another. And now I had shattered all his hopes.

"Oh Erik…" I moaned softly. "You mustn't believe the things that I shouted at you. None of it was true. Erik, don't give up…. I need you, Erik. I… I love you. If only there was some way I could make you believe that I did." Dejectedly, I wandered to the library, determined to bury my sorrows in a book. It wasn't long before I was seated comfortably in my bed surrounded by the soft, feather pillows. Opening the book, I forced myself to read the words on the page. This was going to be a long wait.

**Over the next three days, most of my time was spent drinking myself into a sodden stupor, and then lying about, far too inebriated to think or move. I left my room only at night when I was certain that Christine was sleeping, and then merely to replenish my supply of liquor.**

**My sleep—what little of it I had—was flooded with tortured dreams. Now, it was I who awoke calling her name. _Christine…. Christine…. Christine!_ But she never answered; I never found her. If ever I thought of leaving my room to speak with her, her vindictive words came back to me, echoing again and again in my mind until I thought that I would go completely mad. Why did she insist upon tormenting me? Even in the state that I was in, I could think of nothing but _her_. At times, the first few glasses of cognac only awakened my need for her. I would throw myself at the stone wall that separated us, clawing at the barrier until my fingers bled. Often, the urge to go to her was so strong that I fully expected to awake lying beside her. But I restrained those longings, drowning them until I lay alone in my own bed in a peaceful, forgetful delirium.**

**Each morning, the hangovers grew worse. But nothing could equal the pain in my heart, and so I eased the aching in my head with more of the same drink that had brought it on in the first place, hoping to alleviate my inward agony as well.**

**That fateful morning began much as the past three had. My head was throbbing, there was a nauseating sensation in the pit of my stomach, and I awoke groaning. The room swam as I thrust myself into a sitting position and then to my feet. _I need a drink._ It was my first thought, the only thought I would allow myself to dwell upon. I would not think of Christine this morning. Blindly, I staggered toward my desk where one last bottle sat. It was half empty, but even a bit of its contents would bring some relief, just enough to numb my mind to the pain. As I reached out for the precious, anesthetizing liquid my hand faltered, and the bottle crashed to the floor.**

**I stared at the shattered glass for a few moments, dumbfounded. _How can this be happening to me? First, I lose the heart of the one woman I adore, and now this! This!_ My last hope at a peaceful morning was gone, broken. In tears, I fell to my knees hovering over the ruined remains of my false tranquility. I wept over it for quite some time. Then, as suddenly as it had left me, my reasoning returned. What on earth was I doing? This could not go on forever. I could not continue on like this. Christine could not continue on like this. Someday, I would be forced to face her. What was the point of having Christine with me at all if I spent the rest of my days locked away in this room drinking myself to an early grave? Nothing. There was no point. This was ridiculous. I could not allow her cruel words to overpower me like this. My love for her would not be defeated by hatred.**

**Something deep in my heart told me that I had to keep trying. This was not the end. Perhaps I had simply taken our relationship too quickly. That was it. I would not make that mistake again. There would be no talk of marriage and no touching until she was ready. I would do only what she wanted me to do, what she asked me to do. It was time to start anew and afresh, if Christine would have me.**

**Standing, I surveyed the results of my intense grief. The room was in shambles. My belongings were thrown everywhere. Broken furniture, shattered vases, torn cloth, and empty bottles were strewn throughout the room. I did not even wish to count those bottles. No doubt, the wine cellar was getting empty.**

**The room could be cleaned later. Pressing one hand to my aching brow, I gathered some clean clothes and marched to the small bathroom shared by the two bedchambers. As I began to undress, my stomach gave a protesting growl. I suppose that hunger would have driven me from my room in time, but that was not important now. I would eat in good time. My first duty was to Christine. After I had made myself presentable, I would speak to her. Letting out a long sigh, I lowered myself into the warm, soothing bath water.**

The sound of shattering glass woke me from my dreams. Three days. For three days I had neither seen nor spoken to Erik. For three days I had been living in hell. I wanted desperately to talk to him, but I dared not set a foot in his room. Who knows what kind of wrath that would have evoked? Every sound made me start, and look about, hoping Erik was there. But he never was. I barely ate anything, and crying each night did not improve my health. Many times in the middle of the night I had wanted to cry out for Erik, yet I was too afraid to disappoint myself if he never came.

Sighing, I threw on a light robe and headed for the bathroom. Locked. I bit my lip with vexation. Here we were, separated by only a door, and yet we were so far apart. I was near screaming with frustration when a thought occurred to me. _What has he been doing shut up in his room for three days? Now, Christine, that isn't wise. What if he were to finish his bath and find me in his room? I should just leave him alone. _Unfortunately, the temptation was too strong, and I hurried out of my room.

Cautiously, I peered into Erik's bedchamber, and what met my eyes caused me to gasp in horror and grief. His whole room was a disaster. The desk chair had been broken and was lying on its side in a confused heap. Some of his blankets were torn and feathers from a pillow were scattered haphazardly about the room. My heart sank as I picked my way around the littered floor. Numerous bottles cluttered the desk, the bedside table, and just about everywhere else. Mechanically, I picked up some papers that also occupied the floor, along with just about everything in the room.

"Oh Erik..." I whispered, sinking onto the bed in shock. "What have I done to you?" This was all my fault. I buried my face in the disheveled blankets, moaning. "What have I created? Why did I have to be so harsh? Why?" The ache in my heart now turned into burning despair, and I wept into the pillows.

**It certainly felt good to be clean again. Although I had not allowed my bath to last nearly as long as I would have preferred, it was still time enough to wash myself thoroughly and relax for a few moments. The shirt and slacks that I had worn for the past four days smelled positively foul, and I quickly thrust them into the laundry basket, washing my hands before donning the fresh outfit. While I had lain lethargically in the invitingly warm water, I planned out exactly what I would say to Christine. I could only hope that she would accept my heart-felt apologies. My mind wandered back to my carefully prepared speech, as I completed my morning ritual before the mirror, a mirror that I had purchased a few days after Christine had come to stay with me. Somehow, the sight of my unmasked face no longer bothered me. Make no mistake, the deformities were every bit as grotesque as they had ever been, but if Christine could look upon my disfigurement and not flinch, there was no reason that I should be unable to do so myself.**

**With a sigh, I took one last glance at the mirror. A cynical smile formed on my lips. My eyes, reddened by my massive consumption of alcohol, only served to exaggerate my cursed ugliness. This was as "presentable" as I would be without the mask and a wig. Perhaps I would get them… but no. No, that would never do. If Christine were to learn to love me, then she must do so without the mask standing as a barrier between us. No façade would separate us ever again. She would love me for myself in time. I only needed to be patient. Once more, I turned to re-enter my room. I would return my comb and shaving utensils to the dresser and then—**

**I stopped suddenly in the doorway. The blood froze within my veins. Christine was there in my room, lying on my bed and weeping softly into the pillows. For a moment, I was furious. How dare she enter my room without permission? Now there was no hiding my activities of the past three days. One look at the disarray of my room had surely told her everything. Of all the times that she could have chosen, this was by far the worst! How could I ever expect her to love me now… now that she had seen the consequences of my rage and misery? What could she think of me after seeing all of those bottles? I could almost hear her thoughts as she entered the room. _Not only is he a hideous, murdering monster, but this man is a drunkard as well. Oh, I wish I were with Raoul now! He would never do something like this…_**

**My heart shuddered at the sight of her, and an intense pain shot through my chest. Something happened to me whenever she cried, particularly when I knew that I was the cause of her tears. No matter how I tried, it seemed that I could do nothing but wound her. In my absence, I had hurt her again, and that thought was more than I could bear. In an instant, I was by her side, the items formerly in my hands clattering to the floor. And laying one hand on her trembling shoulder, I spoke:**

"**Christine…" My words came out in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "Please don't cry, my angel. It pains me to see you in tears. Please… I can't bear it… not after all that I have put you through. I am so sorry, my dearest. Christine, I—" My voice broke as tears began to spill from my eyes. "Christine, I love you."**

I don't know which startled me more, his unannounced presence or his "I love you." I looked up to his face, a complete picture of sorrow, highlighted by bloodshot eyes. The lines in his worn face confirmed that he had suffered as much as I had these past few days. But he was beautiful… beautiful to me. I knew he loved me, and I loved him.

"Erik…" I began softly, cupping his tear-stained face with my hands, "I never meant a word that I said to you that day. I know I hurt you terribly. If I could live that day over again, it would be so different. You wouldn't be in such a state of misery. How could I have done this to you? How could I have been so heartless to you… _you _who love me with your whole heart and soul? I don't deserve you. How could you love a woman who has constantly rejected that love? To think of how I've hurt you…" My heart began to race as I moved closer to him. I wanted to show him that I now returned his love, and this was the best way I knew how. "Erik…" I whispered, bringing my face closer to his. "Erik, I love you."

Leaning forward I met his mouth with my lips and shivered with the warmth that coursed through my body. I felt Erik freeze, but I slid my hands across his shirt, massaging his chest caressingly. I had wanted this for too long, and I wasn't about to let him go. I moved against his mouth, whimpering when he finally responded. His hot lips consumed mine, devouring, pressing, causing me to tremble and whimper again for more. Closer… I needed to be closer. I shifted, until I rested on his lap. His knee abruptly separated my legs, and I straddled him without question. Desperately, I kissed him deeper, wanting him badly, and allowing my tongue to slip into his mouth. I wanted everything he had to offer. My lower abdomen was burning fiercely and I was breathing harder as I tasted him, moaning. This was where I belonged.

**I never thought it possible to go from absolute despair to utter bliss in so short a time. Christine's kiss had certainly struck the proper chord. The sensations coursing through my body as I drew her nearer sent my head spinning, and I could think of nothing but the sweet, wonderful moment at hand. She seemed to know precisely how to make my blood boil, how to bring me to the brink of abandoning all self-restraint. And I gave in willingly.**

**An intense pulsating sensation wracked my lower body as her legs entwined with my own. This was too much… too good to be true! _Ah, so that is it,_ I mused dizzily. _I must be dreaming. Well then, I will enjoy this dream to its fullest!_ With that thought, I allowed my hands to slip from their place around Christine's waist. Slowly, languidly my fingers ran down her thighs and then gradually up to her flawless breasts. This was no dream! No creation of my mind could be so perfect. Her lips were even softer than I had imagined, and her skin was like the purest silk beneath my eager hands. Even in my wildest fantasies, I had never dared to dream that a kiss could be this breathtaking.**

**At last, my hands made their way back to her tiny waist. They trailed caressingly down her back, pressing her body firmly against my own. Ah, that felt _so good__!_ A low moan came from my lips, a moan of satisfaction mingled with desire for further gratification. If only Christine knew what she was doing to me. She had awakened a ravenous beast!**

**My tongue toyed with hers for a few moments, petting it, caressing it, and then pursuing it back into her mouth. I wanted to explore every part of her… her mouth… her eyes… her velvety hair… her breasts… to know what lay beneath that robe…. The flame of passion that she had ignited was too powerful for either of us to extinguish. I couldn't help myself.**

"**More… more!" My elated plea came out as only loud, passion-starved growl. Slowly, I began to lay back taking Christine with me, her body still pressed tightly again mine. Again our kiss deepened, and again our contented moans blended in resplendent harmony. My breathing was growing heavier with the passing of each moment. Only one thought came to my mind again and again: _We've passed the point of no return._**


	12. Perplexity

Chapter Twelve

Perplexity

His tongue thrust hungrily against mine, exploring my mouth, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Raoul had never once kissed me like this. My natural drives were never awakened as they were now. I whimpered, my thighs tightening around his legs, as his hands slid over my breasts. The contact was almost more than I could bear, and I began to gasp for air. I wanted all of him, and I wanted him _now._

Before I knew it, I was lying on top of him, and through my robe, I could feel him pressed tightly against my softness. My legs gripped firmly around his hips as I felt myself being rolled onto my back, and soon he was resting heavily on my body. It felt so right for me to be here, underneath him. Erik's lips pressed hard against my mouth, and my heart raced. I was losing control, yet I did not care. Arching my back, I moaned into his mouth, needing him desperately. My stomach twisted tighter, and I moved against him, no longer able to keep myself in check.

"Erik…" I gasped, "I… want…" I never finished, for his mouth was again clamped over mine, passionate and breathtaking.

**There was no need for speech. I knew precisely what she wanted. Deeper and deeper I kissed her, moving my lower body sensually against hers, burying my hands first in her hair, and then allowing them to run up and down her body again, unreservedly exploring those flawless curves. This was an intoxication with far greater power than any wine. Self-control now seemed only a vague, inapplicable term. The throbbing in my loins had swelled to almost painful proportions. I wanted her… _needed_ her now… _now!_ Christine gave a sharp intake of breath as my hands drifted once more to her breasts, this time taking hold of one a bit more forcefully. Not willing to part my malformed lips from her silken mouth, I smothered her near scream of pleasure with my thrashing tongue as I squeezed the soft but firm flesh in my clenched fist. Her request was blatant with every move that she made beneath me, every cry of passion, and I desired it as well with every fiber of my being.**

**Never breaking from our kiss, I lifted myself slightly, arching my back so that our torsos were separated by a few inches. Even then her warmth, her softness lingered with me, and the yearning for new, previously forbidden pleasures increased as my hips remained pressed firmly between her thighs. Shifting most of my weight onto my own arms, I began to search for the first button on my shirt. My fingers found it quickly, and with great alacrity, I began to undo the buttons one by one. A moan of sheer delight passed from my lips when I felt a second set of hands assisting me in the task. Christine was helping me, and as each button was undone, I felt her little fingers running lightly, imploringly over my bare chest and stomach. I returned her caresses, moaning as the pleasure built. After what seemed to be an eternity, the last button was undone.**

**My lips separated from hers for a brief moment as I gazed into her eyes with an exultant smile. Then I lowered my lips to the silken skin of her forehead. I began kissing feverishly all over her face… down her slim neck… over her shoulders… down to the plunging neckline of her robe. When my lips had met with every bit of bare flesh available to them, I looked hungrily at her half-exposed chest, licking my lips with intense desire. That robe had to come off now! I would not have it standing between us a moment longer. Settling myself on top of her, I positioned my hands at her neckline. I kissed her again, full on the lips, with all of the passion in my being, and as I felt her responding I began to fumble with the fastenings of her robe. My hands quivered with anticipation, making the seemingly simple task extremely difficult.**

**How long I had dreamed of this moment… of the glorious moment when we two would become one in mind, soul, and body… of taking Christine and making her my own… of living with her not merely as teacher and student but as man and wife.**

**_Man and wife._ We were not married yet, but at the moment I did not care. I had learned long ago that it was a terrible sin for a man to take a woman who he was not married to, but we would be married soon, I reasoned. She was mine. And I had committed far worse sins; if I would burn in hell it would not be for this. But Christine had surely never done anything so terrible. Oh, but I had also heard how wonderful this would be! When we had finished we would be one, and I would love my Christine with an even greater love, and she would finally love me as she had said… or despise me more than ever before.**

**My hands froze, all but the first button still intact. As much as I wanted her, we were not yet married, and she would hate me if I did not stop. Perhaps she would hate me already. Shame flooded my entire body. How could I think of doing this to her? I was far from worthy of Christine. No man deserved her who would even think of dishonoring her in such a manner.**

**_You are a fool, Erik,_ the all too familiar voice of my conscience chided. _After three days of silent rage, Christine naturally feared and dreaded your anger. So she resorted to desperate measures to pacify you for the sake of her lover, and you reacted by going half-mad with love. This is the result! You nearly ravished her! Hands off, Erik! She is not yours to take._**

**It was true. I had seduced her quite successfully. I had made her want me nearly as much as I wanted her. At the moment, Christine was mine for the taking, yet no matter what I did, when our little reverie was over, that look would be gone from her eyes forever. She would grow to despise me for my actions, she would remember the man she truly loved and wish to be with him instead, and I would be forced to face the truth. _Christine does not love me._ She could never be happy with me. Her heart belonged to another.**

**The salty taste of my tears reached our lips. Slowly, I pulled away from her, breaking the kiss, although my body screamed at me not to stop. I stood, turning away from her.**

"**Forgive me," I pleaded, my voice little more than a broken whisper. With trembling hands, I began to re-button my shirt. "Please forgive me, Christine. I am infinitely sorry. There is _no excuse_ for my behavior. It is I who am not worthy of your love, my angel. I only wish that you could love me, as you have said… that we could create our own world… a world of love and music… the fulfillment of all of our dreams, but that world is not to be… not on this earth…. I succeeded in seducing you and nothing more. You were right when you told me that I would never own your heart. I can tie you up, but I'll never tie up your heart. I can take your body as my rightful possession according to our agreement, but your heart will still belong to your young man. You could not truly be happy with me. Not now."**

**Sensing that Christine was about to speak, I raised one hand to silence her. I did not dare look at her.**

"**I have failed you, Christine," I went on, hanging my head in sorrowful defeat. "I have more than proved myself undeserving of you. No man who would even dream of taking advantage of you disserves to have you. And I have taken advantage of you more than once. I took advantage of your love for your father. I played upon his memory by telling you that I was the Angel of Music in order to win your affections. I have taken advantage of your love for Raoul de Chagny in order to make you my own by force in exchange for his life. And now I have taken advantage of your pity for me and nearly…" I paused, at a loss for suitable words, taking a deep breath and then releasing it on a long sigh. "But we cannot go on like this. I do not want a prisoner…. I see that now…. If you were to be mine, then I would want you to come to me of your own free will. If I had our relationship to do over again, things would be so different. _You_ would not be in this state of misery now. How could I have done this to you… _you_ whom I love with all of my heart and soul?" _How could I touch such a perfect woman with these hands, the hands of a thief and a murderer?_**

**At that point, I made the mistake of turning to face her. The moment that my eyes met with Christine's the tears began again, pouring unmercifully down my face until I could scarcely speak for choking on them. At last, I gained some semblance of control, and I continued. "If I had it all to do over, I would have come to the chapel one morning before rehearsal. I would have stood in the corner silently as you prayed, and then when you had finished, I would have come out of the shadows and spoken to you. I would have introduced myself, and I would have told you that you have the most extraordinary voice that I have ever heard, that I would be honored if you would allow me to be your teacher. If you had agreed, in time I would have worked up the courage to tell you that you are the most extraordinary woman that I have ever met, and that I wished to marry you."**

**I had often wondered how things might have worked out if I had not taken on the guise of Christine's Angel of Music, and if I had simply taught her as Erik. Yet thinking of what might have been was useless. The past could not be changed. Shaking my head, I attempted to dry my face. I knew what I had to do. Though it would be the hardest decision in my life, it was one that had to be made. That choice was the reason for this new, unbearable pain swelling in my chest. My heart was breaking anew. Drawing in a deep breath, I strode to my beloved's side and grasped both of her little hands in my own hands.**

"**Christine…" I said softly, looking into her eyes through my tear-blurred eyes. "Christine, you are free…. I will not force you to stay here with me any longer. You are not happy here, and that is clear to me now. I cannot keep you somewhere where you are not completely happy. Only a monster would do that…. I never want you to think of me as a monster…. Remember me simply as Erik, a man who will love you until the day that he dies…. You are free, my angel, free to go and marry your young man."**

I sat on the bed, completely dumbfounded, near shrieking with thwarted desire and confusion. This was certainly _not _what I had expected. _What state of misery? Did I look miserable to him? _This was no time for jokes. Yet, searching his eyes, I knew that he meant everything he had said. He was actually telling me to leave. _Leave. _Even a week ago, I would have reacted with joy, but now, now…. Now I was troubled. Had I hurt him so much that he no longer wanted me? True, he did say that he still loved me, but maybe he didn't want me to know the real reason. That must be it. I had injured him deeply, and now he was through with me.

Frantic, I rose off the bed, keeping my back towards Erik. I stared blankly at the wall, arms folded. How could he not see that I loved him? I didn't feel like his prisoner. On the contrary, I felt the freedom of knowing that I loved and was being loved. Without him… that's when my freedom would be taken away. I would be prisoner to the weary, lonely days of my life, with the world as my keeper. Where did he get the idea that I wasn't completely happy here? Or maybe he knew that I loved him, and was now going to punish me for life for all the grief that I caused him. My chest tightened painfully. Was that what he really was doing? Turning I faced him, tears beginning to fall down my face. I tried vainly to fight them back, knowing that to Erik, they would look like the tears of relief.

"You really want me to go?" I asked, my voice quivering.

_**No! No, don't leave me! Never, never go away, Christine! I want to keep you with me always… to hold you and kiss you… to feel your delicate little fingers messaging my unmasked face… to love you and be loved! I want to make you my wife today. I want to be the father of your children. We would be a race apart… begin a new world far better than the cruel, hateful world up there…. I want to make you happy beyond your wildest dreams…. I want to continue to tutor you until your heavenly voice truly is like that of an angel… to sing together until we swoon away with delight!**_

**Why could I not simply tell her that? I shook my head vigorously, unable to reply as the tears continued to seep from my eyes, making their hot, salty trails down my uneven cheeks and further clouding my vision. That look of utter perplexity in Christine's eyes reflected the strange emotions that I felt swirling in my own heart.**

**I studied her silently through my tears. Two blue pools of sorrow looked at me beseechingly. Her cheeks were flushed slightly and her lips still swollen from our kiss. Even when she had been weeping, she was the most beautiful woman on the face of this earth. Exquisite was the only word for my Christine. Exquisite and flawless. She was so perfect. I could not imagine that someone so wonderful could ever find it in her heart to love someone like me. Yet the very fact that she was not eagerly preparing to leave caused my heart to swell with hope. _Perhaps she does not actually wish to go,_ I pondered joyfully._ Perhaps she does love me!_**

**My heart began to hammer so frantically that I thought it would do itself damage. Shutting my eyes, I pressed both hands against my throbbing chest, leaning against the bed and gasping for breath. When I opened my eyes a moment later, the look of alarm on my angel's face was enough to send my heart pounding again. She did care for me…. If she did not love me, then she felt at least something for me, or she would not worry as she did now. Again, I shut my eyes. I wanted desperately to fall at her feet and beg her to stay, to pour out the depths of my aching heart.**

**Slowly I opened my eyes, searching her troubled countenance. There were tears falling from her lovely eyes. If only I could discern the cause of those tears. Were they the tears of a sorrowful goodbye, or tears of joy that I had finally let her go, or perhaps tears of confusion? Of course she was confused. I had assaulted each one of her senses in an unmerciful succession, sending her from loneliness and fear to pity and sympathy to unbridled passion and sexual craving. I had turned her world upside-down, made her feel things that neither of us had felt before. Christine only thought that she wanted me, but in time she would learn differently. Three days before when we had left the graveyard, she knew exactly whom she loved, but she would not tell me. She had tried to spare me that hurt.**

**Letting out a shaky sigh, I lifted one hand to brush away her tears. Then I cautiously took her hands in mine a second time, choosing my words with great care.**

"**No," I whispered in reply to her question. "No, I do not want you to leave me. I never want to be apart from you for a single moment, let alone to be separated forever. But what I want does not matter anymore. I love you, Christine." My angel looked even more confused. Slowly I released her hands, bowing my head so that I would not be forced to look into her eyes. "Yes, I want you to go." The tears returned, coursing down my face, and soon I was sobbing so deeply that my words came only in quick, broken phrases. "I want… you to leave me… and to go where… where you will be happy…. I cannot subject you… to live my life…. Even I… cannot take so lovely a flower… away from her beloved sunlight…. I cannot expect you to thrive… in darkness... beneath the earth… separated from those whom you love… spending your life with… with a murderer…. Look at me, Christine! You disserve… so much… more…."**

I was becoming angry. Angry that he was telling me to leave, angry at his tears that caused me so much pain, angry at him for starting this whole mess, angry at Raoul for loving me, angry at myself for being so weak. The scalding tears of hurt and anger burned my cheeks. I would go… even if it killed me. He was taking my love and throwing it back into my face. He didn't really love me… not anymore. And it was all my fault. Lies… his words were all lies. His tears pleaded that he really _did _love me, and I was just being unreasonable, but I ignored them, and they only served to heighten my anger. He was trying once again to manipulate me with his sobs. But this time, he would not have the satisfaction of seeing me affected by them.

"Then I'm leaving… today… as soon as I can get ready." I felt like I was throwing daggers at him, but I didn't care. Fleeing from his room, I hastened to mine and began throwing some things in a valise that I found in the closet.

**Now it was I who was confused. As I sat wearily on the edge of my bed, my chin resting in one hand, I could not help but ponder the incongruity that I had attempted to woo Christine here. The "bed" on which I sat was really nothing more than a large wooden box, a prop stolen from the vaults above, cushioned as a bed, and shaped like an oversized coffin. It had to be large indeed to accommodate both Senior Piangi and La Carlotta. The object had been fashioned for the final scene of Gounod's _Romeo et Juliette_. How fitting it seemed that I—The Living Corpse, The Devil's Child—should seduce my beloved in a coffin bed.**

**A thousand emotions surged through my exhausted body. Chiefly among them I felt love, overwhelming love for Christine, which caused all other feelings to wither in comparison. At the same time, I was flooded with wonder at her actions a few minutes before, incredulity and awe that she could kiss me. I also felt hatred for myself, for my inadequacies. If only I could be worthy of her. Yet how could anyone be deserving of such a Treasure? There was one whom she thought deserving of her love. _Raoul de Chagny._ Loathing aroused once again for that boy who constantly stood between us, who held her heart back from ever belonging to me. She loved him. There was no denying that. For a few breathtaking, delusional minutes I had reveled in the sweet fantasy of her love, thinking that Christine had forgotten the viscount and the life that he offered her. But like all good things in my life, that dream came to an abrupt end. She _had _wanted me. I knew that as well, but her feelings where changeable. And even the fact that she had wanted me did not prove her love. _Why are women so fickle?_**

**The wound of her words three days before tore wide open, each phrase wrenching my bleeding heart in two with its bitter memory. I could see her standing beside the lake, reprimanding me. _"I almost think that death would be better than to live with an egotistical bastard such as yourself! Raoul is a much better man than you'll ever be."_ And her words in the carriage that morning. _"All you think about is yourself... that's all you think about! You would think, by the way you act, I belonged to you! Well, I don't yet, and don't you forget that! And I might never belong to you in the first place…. I don't know if any woman would love you anyway, even if you weren't in the state that you're in…. You're so self-centered…. Who would want to be your wife anyway? … Say goodbye to all freedom!"_**

**A cry of sheer agony left my lips before I had had the opportunity to silence it. By this time, my tears had stopped, yet the pain in my chest had only increased. My heart was pounding out a frightfully irregular rhythm.**

**She would have her freedom. I would send her off to meet her little viscount. The fairy princess would live happily ever after with her prince. Christine could marry Chagny and spend the rest of her days as the lady of a beautiful château with more servants than she knew what to do with. If that was the life that would make her happy, then I would give it to her.**

**Slowly I rose, inhaling deeply and then releasing the air on a long sigh. Surely she was prepared for her journey by now. Without further ponderings, I donned a wig and my usual white half-mask. Then I made my way to her room and gave three short taps on the door.**

A/N: To all of our dearest readers: Thank you so much for your patience… or lack thereof. My point is, thank you for staying with us through all of these chapters. I finally got around to the final editing of this chapter. Chapter 13 should be up in another couple of weeks. Then after that I have to wait on my co-authoress to start writing with me again. Summer should give us time to start writing again. Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. We will try to do better in the future, but I cannot promise anything since we are both in college. More chapters are coming though, in time; I can promise you that.

**Twinkle22**, **katiebabs**, **Myli**, and **naomipoe**- I'm glad you're enjoying the story, even with the things that happened in chapter 11. It's always nice to get good reviews. Here is that update you wanted… finally.

**I am the Angel of Music**- Thank you so much for your gracious compliment. Please do keep reading and reviewing. We love hearing from you. You are one of my favorite reviewers.

**sporkish fiend**- I can see your point about the contradiction with the last few paragraphs of chapter ten, but I believe that Christine really was ready for Erik to kiss her. She just didn't realize it. Even if she was not ready for that the day of their trip to the graveyard, after three days of not seeing or hearing from Erik she could think of little else to do to show him that she really did love him. Her kiss was a desperate act in order to convey her love for him, not a planned course of action. It was not her intention that things went as far as they did. As for her not being kissed before, whatever version of Phantom you are going by (and this fiction is based mostly on Andrew Lloyd Webber), Christine has at least been kissed by Raoul. Most likely her childhood sweetheart gave her her first kiss. Granted that kiss/those kisses from Raoul were nothing like this. Her actions in the last chapter were impulsive, but sometimes things like this really do happen. Sometimes when an innocent girl is alone with a man who she is in love with, she does things she would never dream of doing until she is in that situation, but Christine being young and naïve didn't know that. This is a feasible situation, if not the characterization you would have chosen yourself. As for Christine slapping Erik, she might not have normally had the courage to do that, but her action was motivated by anger and frustration, because he was not listening to her. You do have a good point. But the slap wasn't really the important part of that chapter. It was the things Christine said that wounded Erik the most. Thanks for your constructive criticism. I hope these things haven't ruined the story for you. We are trying to do our best at keeping everyone in character, but like all authors we have improving to do.

**Xypherscompany** and **Chocolate Covered Icicles** (cute screen name btw)- Thank you for your kind words on our story. I'm glad you both like the way the viewpoints are flowing.

**Kathryn Blakeney**- It's great to hear from a friend of Christine4ever86's at college! Welcome to the ranks of our faithful readers. Writing and reading fan fiction is a great escape from the stress of college life. Thank you for your wonderful review.

**CrawfordsBiscuits**- Sorry. * sheepish look * You do not have to wait impatiently any longer, at least not for this chapter. This is your favorite story? Aw, you make me blush. Thank you so much for your review. Here is our latest chapter. Hope you enjoy it.


	13. When We've Said Goodbye

Chapter Thirteen

When We've Said Goodbye

I jerked up from my tear-drenched pillow at the sound of soft knocking on the door. The valise lay forgotten on the floor, and clothing was scattered chaotically about the vanity and bed. After dressing, I had collapsed on the bed in anguish, crying till I thought I would break.

At first, I had thought, _He can't make me leave. I'll refuse to go. _But then…What if he was right? What if I really didn't love him? What if I still loved Raoul? Could I have deceived myself into thinking that I was in love with Erik? But how could that be, when I knew how I truly felt? Maybe returning to Raoul would be the only way to find out who I really loved. I would go, and then come back, despite all my doubts… here to this candle-lit cavern. _This_ was my home. This place was a part of me. I could feel it. No one would keep me away.

So there I had lain for a few minutes, exhausted with my weeping. Only did the sound of knocking wake me from my stupor. Jumping off the bed, I flew around the room, picking up the remaining articles of clothing and stuffing them into the valise. I would not have Erik see me so upset.

"Come in," I said hoarsely, sliding onto the vanity's stool and nervously running a brush through my hair. I did not turn at his entrance, but saw his reflection in the vanity mirror. My heart twisted in anguish. In the space of a few minutes, he had gone from being sensuously beautiful to old and worn with pain. His eyes, glistening with sorrow, met mine in the mirror. I longed to throw my arms around him and cry, telling him that I _would not _go, and that I would stay here, with him, but imaginary chains of misunderstanding and confusion kept me locked to my seat.

**Tension hung heavily in the air between Christine and me. There was so much that I wished to say to her that would now remain unsaid. Perhaps it was better this way. It was best that I let her go now while I still could. Clearly, I had left my mark upon this beautiful young lady. It was not likely that she would soon forget the angel in hell. She had matured a great deal in the time that I had known her, but perhaps I had forced her to grow up too quickly. Deep inside, she was still only a child. Her heart had been awakened to love and passion, to terror exceeding her most horrible nightmares, to pity of one beyond help, and to heart-wrenching agony, all in so short a time. No wonder she was confused. But the change in her had not been entirely bad. Christine did have my music. It was the one truly good thing that I could give her—for I could not give her my love if she did not wish to receive it. But no one could take my music from her.**

**I gazed at her for several minutes, as she brushed her long curls in silence, our eyes locked by way of the mirror. Something about the look of grief in her cobalt eyes added a bittersweet flavor to the pain that I felt. She did not wish to leave me alone. After all that I had done, Christine could still feel sympathy for me. Oh, she was a good girl! In truth, I doubted that I would be left alone in this world for much longer. My heart could not go on beating forever. As it was, the vital organ seemed to be giving way. Over the past three days, its rhythm had grown steadily more irregular. The end could not be far off. That thought, at least, was a comfort to me, but I could not tell Christine. It would bring her no consolation to know that I was dying of love for her.**

**With a long, melancholy sigh, I lowered my gaze to the floor. My very soul shuddered at the sight of the valise. Frantically, I seized the suitcase thrusting it onto the bed, tearing open the latch, and removing its contents, scattering garments haphazardly over the bed. A fresh deluge of tormented tears poured from my eyes as I came across the deep blue gown that she had worn on our first carriage ride together. Clutching the fabric to my heart, I sank into a sobbing heap on her bed. Was it not enough that she was leaving and taking my battered heart with her? Must Christine take the clothing as well? True, the things in her room were of no use to me, but I could not bear to be parted from her possessions as well. Each gown that she had worn was a memory, and each outfit that she had not yet graced with the presence of her flawless body was a fantasy, a hope for the future. She could not take them from me. They were very little, but they were all that I had left.**

**In a few moments, I recovered from the alarm that had temporarily shaken my mental stability. Standing to my feet, I brushed away the tears that streaked the unmasked half of my face, not bothering with the hidden and disfigured half.**

"**Pardon me…" I rasped, turning to Christine. "I would rather you leave these things here with me. I assume that you have other clothing to wear at home. Please… I would like to keep them." At her nod of acquiescence, I turned my attention to putting away the precious pieces of clothing, hanging each gown lovingly in the wardrobe, and folding the smaller pieces with greatest care, replacing each one into its proper drawer.**

**When that task was finished, I stepped to the door and motioned for Christine to follow me. Her footsteps echoed dainty on the flagstones behind me as I led the way to my organ. I rummaged through the endless stacks of scores and sheet music until I had found the composition that I had been looking for. A feeble smile played at the corners of my lips as I placed the manuscript in Christine's awaiting hands.**

"**This is for you," I told her, stroking the edge of the thick stack of papers. "It is a nuptial mass. I composed it for…"—the tears were extremely difficult to swallow back—"for us, but now I would like you to take it, and have it performed at your wedding with the viscount."**

I smiled weakly, taking the manuscript from him. _Wedding with Raoul? There isn't going to be any wedding with Raoul! I don't love him! I love __you! _This was his way of saying goodbye. He really was shutting me out of his life. He wanted me to stay away forever. Despair sank into my bones, like the life was being pressed out of me, and my eyes glazed over with tears. I wouldn't be coming back. _This _was the way it was going to be… forever. I placed the music on the organ bench. Looking down, I slid the beautiful diamond ring off my finger. Taking Erik's hand, I placed the ring in his palm, closing his fingers around it, and held my hand on his.

"I… I want you to take this back. I can't wear it any longer." I caught my breath trying to hold back the tears.

**My hand trembled visibly as I removed it from her grasp, slowly opening the palm and gazing down at the ring with all of its shimmering diamonds. A single tear trickled beneath my mask, followed closely by its companion falling from my left eye. Christine's return of that piece of jewelry could hold so many meanings, but to me the reason was clear. She was saying goodbye. Our love was never meant to be.**

_**Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye.**_

_**Remember me, once in a while. Please promise me you'll try.**_

_**When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,**_

_**If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.**_

_**We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea,**_

_**But if you can still remember, stop and think of me.**_

_**Think of all the things we've shared and seen.**_

_**Don't think about the way things might have been.**_

_**Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned.**_

_**Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind.**_

_**Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do.**_

_**There will never be a day when I won't think of you.**_

_**Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their season, so do we,**_

_**But please promise me that sometimes you will think of me.**_

**The words from her aria at the gala performance of Hannibal rang in my mind as I repeatedly turned the ring over in my hand. I could see Christine standing on the stage wrapped in the folds of that flowing white gown. She was the very essence of beauty, and she sung for me as she had never sung before. Her voice was angelic, her tone perfect. Our hours of work were evident in her every note. And now… now the words stung at my heart like a thousand daggers. In some ways, they were true. I would think of her every day… all day. I would remember every joyous hour of what had been, and I would fantasize about all the wonderful things that we had never, and now would never, have the opportunity to do together. But I would never wish to take my heart back and to be free of her love.**

**I raised the ring to my lips, kissing it lightly before removing the gold band on the smallest finger of my left hand and replacing it with the diamond ring. "And I… I would like for you to have this," I choked out. Still fighting against the tears that burned at the rims of my tired eyes, I knelt before her and slipped my mother's ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. "Keep it to remember your Erik. Thank you, Christine. Thank you from the bottom of my soul. Over the time that you have spent with me here, you have given me more happiness than I could have ever imagined, much more than I can ever merit. I will hold the memory of these days—particularly this morning—in my heart until the day that I die. I love you, Christine." Closing my eyes, I pressed her hand to my lips, showering her fingers with kisses and bathing them in my tears.**

_No… this can't be happening. _Weakly, I fought back burning tears. Nothing I could say would be able to express what I was feeling right now. I closed my eyes, shuddering with intense grief. Erik's lips seemed to burn the tender skin on my fingers, their heat flying to my heart, causing it to melt in anguish. Finally, I could bear no more, and I pulled my hand from his grasp.

"Stop… please…." His touch was killing me. The longer he held me, the more hopeless I became. Turning, I wiped the tears from my eyes. "Let's just go… please…. I want to go."

In agonizing silence, he helped me into the boat, and soon we were gliding through the black, glassy waters, propelled by the long pole held firmly in Erik's hands. Memories of my first time down these ghostly passageways flashed unmercifully before me. Then, I had been awed by the gothic splendor of these tunnels; now they seemed angry and forbidding, as if they were condemning me for leaving.

Shivering, I wrapped my cloak tighter around me, and allowed my mind to wander aimlessly until it was brought back to reality by the sharp jostling of the carriage. Oddly, I was not surprised that I could not recall when we had left the boat or come to be in the carriage.

In a few minutes, I would be standing outside Raoul's door. I had dreamed of this day from the moment Raoul had vanished from my sight, but I wasn't excited. I was filled with a dread… a dread of being alone. I would be alone without Erik. Even though Raoul loved me, Erik knew my heart… my soul… my entire being. Yes, Raoul loved me, but not the way Erik loved me. And now that love was casting me away and keeping my heart locked in its iron grasp. Bitter tears rolled down my face. I couldn't live without his love.

**A cold and distant state of silence had settled around me. I felt nothing. Not the icy winds that whipped around my skeletal form, not the continuous tossing of the carriage, not the freezing leather seat at my back thrusting mercilessly against my stiffened spine. Nothing. All of my senses seemed to be numbed indefinitely. I heard nothing but Christine's quiet weeping and a strident throbbing in my chest. I did not cry; I could not. There was nothing left of my soul with which to feel pain or agony, or so I thought at the moment. And surely my bleeding and broken heart could not hold up much longer; it was beating, but that was all that could be said for it. Beating the slow, unsteady rhythm of a heart that wishes to stop and know the rest of death.**

**Starring unseeingly out of the window, I became lost in a turbulent sea of ponderings. I did not dare to turn and look even once upon the woman I loved. Doubtless, she sat at the far end of the seat, as distant from me as possible. Even if she had possessed the courage and the inclination to touch my hand, I most likely would have pushed her away at that point. I was a wounded caged animal, a frightened creature that would strike out at any who dared to threaten me with further injury. Perhaps a cage was where I truly belonged… a cage, or a coffin…. Yes, a coffin would be nice… buried deep in the ground where no one would see my abhorrent face again….**

"**Erik…? _Erik?_" At last, the sound of my beloved's voice began to draw me out of my morbid world of thoughts. It was no surprise to me that I had taken no notice as to when our carriage had stopped. Absently, I wondered how long Christine had been attempting to gain my attention, how long ago we had arrived. The diffident touch of her hand on my arm brought me fully to the present. Shaking my head, I peered out of the window, seeing real shapes in the late-morning sunlight for the first time since we had left the Garnier.**

**We were parked in the shelter of a small grove of trees at the edge of the Chagny estate, just as I had instructed our driver. As if of its own accord, my hand came to rest on top of Christine's, pressing her gloved fingers tightly against my arm. _At least she did not leave without my noticing, without saying goodbye,_ I thought. An unbelievable pang of anguish shot through my chest, and at that moment all of my previous despair returned. I realized, quite suddenly, that here Christine and I would say goodbye… forever. That thought was more than I could bear.**

**With trembling hands, I unlatched the brougham's door and stepped to the ground. I fought to no avail to hold back the tears as I lifted Christine to stand at my side. Keeping her hand firmly in my own, I lead her throughout the miniature forest. There was so much that I wished to say; yet I could not seem to speak. My voice, like every part of my being, was broken. I remained merely a fragile shell of the man whom she had once called her Angel of Music.**

**The silence was excruciating, but still we walked on, neither of us breaking that cursed stillness except with an occasional stifled sob. After what seemed to be an eternity, we came to the end of our journey. My steps halted at the edge of the trees. The château was only a few yards away. My heart seemed to shatter yet again as I watched Christine taking in the sight of what was to be her new home, and then her gaze returned to me. Our eyes locked.**

**Letting out a heavy sigh, I shut my eyes for a few moments, unwittingly squeezing her hand even tighter. And then I slowly opened my eyes. I was ready to tell her now. "Christine, I have one last thing to give you." The strength of my tone surprised me; only a short time before my voice had been completely lost to me. Never moving my eyes from those brilliant sapphire spheres, I reached into the recesses of my cloak and withdrew a small key.**

"**Here it is," I said, placing the object in her free hand. "It is the key to the Rue Scribe entrance to the Opera. If you recall, it is the route that we took today." Her helpless expression told me that she had no memory of the passageway. "There is an iron gate on the lower side of the building facing the Rue Scribe," I explained with uncharacteristic patience. "This key will open that gate. That passage will lead you directly to the lake. If ever you should wish to return, for any reason, the boat will be waiting for you… I will be waiting for you. But there is one last thing that you must know, my angel. If you wish to return to me, you must do so in the near future. There is no easy way to say this, but I am dying. I am dying of love for you. It is only a matter of time…" Tears soaked my mask as I placed her right hand to my heart, allowing her to feel its abnormal rhythm.**

"**If you do not return, then I have one final request. When I am gone, I will send you a sign, an advertisement in the Époque proclaiming my death. At that time, you may return my ring and with it my memory to be buried forever. Please see that I am buried where no one will ever see my face." That said, I pulled my Christine into a close embrace one last time, weeping bitterly into her curls.**

**Several minutes passed with no sound other than our muffled cries. Then, when I could maintain the faintest impression of self-control, I drew back just enough to look into her eyes. "I love you," I whispered, tangling my fingers in her lush brown hair. "I love you, my sweet Christine. There, there… you must not blame yourself. None of this is your fault. I am happy, my dear. For the first time in my life, I am truly content. You have given me all the happiness that this world has to offer." I was hesitant to make the next request after asking her to perform such a difficult task, but something within me compelled me to ask her. "Christine, may I kiss you goodbye?"**

I looked up at Erik through tear-blurred eyes, and in an instant my lips were hungrily devouring his. More tears slipped ungraciously down my face as we kissed. Visions of that morning flashed before my eyes as my body awakened to his touch, even in such an anguished state. I clung to him desperately, not ever wanting to let him go, wanting to keep the memory of his embrace forever. Our bitter goodbye was tearing my heart in two.

Unable to bear the sweet torture any longer, I broke abruptly from our kiss, stepped back, and choking on my tears, I whispered, "Goodbye Erik..."

With that, I turned and half ran towards the château, not daring to glance back for fear I would break down in hysterics. Finally I stood before the massive door, the brass knocker gleaming in the sunlight. Gingerly I took the cold metal in my hand. _Don't look back…. Whatever you do, don't look back._ Swallowing my remaining tears, I knocked firmly, daring to hope that Raoul wasn't home, and I would be forced go back to Erik. _Don't look back… don't look back. _Unconsciously my fingers were nervously twisting the fabric of my cloak. _Raoul… please don't be home. _The opening of the door startled me, and there stood the butler, his eyes glazed over with the unemotional indifference of one about his duty.

"I am here to see Raoul de Chagny." I scarcely could command myself to speak.

"May I ask who is calling, Mademoiselle?"

"Christine… Christine Daaé." The butler's starchy expression turned white, his eyes giving away his enormous shock.

"Please Mademoiselle, do come in!" He stepped aside hastily, taking my cloak when I had entered. Then he bade me follow him. "Right this way, Mademoiselle." In a moment, we were in the parlor. "Please Mademoiselle, make yourself comfortable. Monsieur le Vicomte will be with you in a moment." The butler left the room, half slamming the doors behind him in his haste. My lips curled into an amused smile. I must have given him quite a fright.

My gazed wandered about the richly decorated room coming to rest on an ebony grand piano that seemed to lend the room a feel of solemn dignity. In the fireplace, golden flames danced merrily, inviting one to warm himself in the heat of their glow. I stared into the gleaming brightness, sighing with grief, yet forbidding myself to cry.

"Oh Erik," I moaned. "I'm here before a fire, and here in my love's house… yet I am as cold as ice." Hearing shouts I turned, staring at the door handles, waiting with bated breath. The French doors jerked open violently, revealing Raoul's figure in the doorway.

**A poignant sigh passed from my lips as the enormous oak door groaned shut, sealing off my final chance at seeing Christine. This was it: the end of all dreams of our happiness together. I could entertain no more fantasies of awaking to find Christine lying beside me, her arms encircling my neck, her head resting on my chest, her lips curved slightly upward, and her mind and body wrapped in peaceful slumber. Nor could I imagine that one day she would stand in my kitchen cooking one of our favorite meals while I sat composing at my organ, and the children—all looking like their beautiful mother—played quietly nearby. There would be no normal life for me, no joy for us together. Such happiness was meant for the angels and those whom they saw fit to bless, not for a miserable wretch such as myself. It was all over now. Christine was gone, and she carried with her all of my hopes and dreams and what little remained of my heart. Only a throbbing mass of agony lingered to pound in my chest.**

**It took all of the energy left in my worn body to push myself to stand. No longer leaning against the sturdy tree trunk, I began to walk, slowly and with labored steps, feeling ever so much older than my nearly forty years of age. I did not look back. I did not look at all; the forest around me no longer existed. Tears coursed unmercifully down my cheeks, yet I scarcely felt them. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I only wished to return to the Opera—to my home, my hole in the ground—and to curl up and die in peace.**

**Eventually I reached the hidden barouche, and muttering a command to return immediately to the Opera Populair I stepped inside. The carriage lurched forward as its driver urged his horses to a trot. I sat stiffly, once again oblivious to the constant thrashing of the seat against my back. There were other things on my mind. The same scene played through my thoughts over and over again.**

_**Christine's lips were warm on mine as she kissed me. My body ached for her as my hands ran lightly, caressingly over her back and through her hair. I could not give in to the longings that her response evoked. I could only imagine one last time that she would willfully choose to stay with me. Honestly, I had expected her to refuse my request of a farewell kiss, but she did not. She granted me that one last moment of bliss. And then, she was gone.**_

_**"Goodbye Erik..."**_

_**Her parting words fell like innumerable knives upon my heart, piercing the throbbing organ from all possible directions and wrenching fresh tears from my eyes. Sinking back against the rough trunk of one of the many trees, I allowed one hand to drift to my lips and trace the marred skin of my mouth where her perfect lips had been only moments before. The sweet taste of her kiss still remained, and the febrile flesh, never touched by another human being before that agonizingly beautiful morning, burned against my fingers. Her warmth was everywhere, all around me even as I watched her go, helpless to stop her. Her graceful strides quickened as she approached the immense building, the home of her lover. I had not seen her run like that in quite some time. She seemed so eager to go, never once glancing back towards me.**_

'_**No!' My bleeding heart entreated silently, shuddering with its every beat. 'No, don't go…. Please do not leave me…. I need you! Stop… please…. Come back, my angel…. If you ever cared for me in the slightest, come back…. You would not want your Erik to die, would you? You cannot go now, knowing that I am dying! You can save me… save me with your love…. I love you, Christine! I love you…. I love you….'**_

_**The tension was unbelievable, but although my heart was breaking there was an implausible yet undeniable peace that went to my very soul. I knew that I had done the best thing for Christine when I let her go. I had granted her freedom, and I could not take it back now. Everything within me yearned to cry out to her, but I simply could not bring myself to do so. I could not hurt her any further. This burden was mine alone to bear. Still, my lips would not move even to return her farewell. It would be selfishness to call to her now, and I would be a fool to do so. It was for love that I had first carried her off, and now love bade me to remain silent.**_

_**Time had seemed to stand still as she stepped onto the veranda, looking intently at the large brass doorknocker before taking it into her hand. I observed the subtle movement at her throat as she swallowed back her tears. Doubtless these fresh tears where of joy rather than grief. She knocked once, and then released the metal object, her delicate fingers twining anxiously in the material of her cloak and gown. And then the door opened, revealing the Chagnys' butler. I had watched unmoving, as the scene unfolded before me. I could not look away, though my heart burned in anguish. My hazy mind seemed scarcely able to process all that was happening. Then, all too soon, Christine had stepped inside, never looking back, and the door was closed.**_

**By the time the Chagny estate was out of view I was sobbing desperately, clinging to the windowsill with all of my might. If only I could see her once more. The pain was so real, so physical, literally burning in my chest. I could not live without Christine. Without her love I would die. I could only hope that the end would come quickly and without further sufferings. Leaning back against the seat, I allowed my eyes to fall shut, whispering my farewell although she could not hear me:**

"**Goodbye Christine…"**


	14. No Longer Mine

A/N: Finally another chapter! No excuses can cover such a long hiatus, but I hope you will forgive us, wonderful readers. There is more coming, although I can't say for sure how soon. Hope you enjoy this new chapter.

Chapter Fourteen

No Longer Mine

**Erik**

**My head was throbbing unmercifully by the time I arrived at the Opera. The tears continued to course down my cheeks, stinging at my swollen eyes and leaving salty trails as they fell. I felt rather than saw the carriage come to a stop. Fighting a losing battle to gain some form of equanimity, I took a deep breath and then released it shakily. My hands searched instinctively for the door-latch. They found it, and with a metallic click the door swung open and I stumbled to the street, mopping my sodden eyes on my sleeve.**

**I had begun to fumble in my pockets for the cab fare when I heard the familiar voice of my chosen driver:**

"**Never mind about that. This trip is on me, Sir."**

**Perhaps he knew too much; I didn't know what he had heard. At any other time I would have found out, but now it did not matter. A quavering attempt at a smile appeared on my lips, and I nodded my thanks, unable to voice it. I watched as the carriage disappeared into the congested streets of Paris, and then I began what I hoped would be my final journey. That journey did not take long. As I drew near to the looming grandiose of the Opera, my fingers found the familiar key, and I drew it from my pocket. I gazed at it through tear-clouded eyes, and could not help but think of its twin, the spare key now in Christine's possession. The key that could bring her back to me. But such thoughts were foolishness. She was not coming back.**

**The iron gate groaned beneath my hands as it swung open and then closed behind me. Once the Rue Scribe gate was bolted, I began the descent to the fifth cellar. At the base of those stairs, I leaned against the wall, panting. It was quite strange for me to tire so easily. But then this sudden drain on my strength was to be expected; losing Christine had left me a weary old man. Her smiles, her voice, her presence made life worth living. She had gone back to her happy life above ground, Little Lotte living in a dream with her childhood sweetheart. Back in time to a world where she did not know I existed, a world where the Angel of Music was one of her father's stories, a happy dream, and not a nightmare. She would forget me. Meanwhile, I would rot beneath my beloved Opera. I would turn to dust with it.**

_**Dust**_**… That was all that would be left. A smile overtook my lips and I began to laugh hysterically, feverishly. Dust! I knew just how to end it all. The managers were busy at work having the Opera repaired after the fire. When the restorations were complete, another opera would come… A grand gala and a grand explosion! Worse things than a shattered chandelier, indeed. They would pay… They would all pay for what they had done to me…. All of the resources were at my fingertips… within my home… rope, matches, barrels of gunpowder… I clapped my hands together in excitement. The Opera would be gone and with it the Opera Ghost! Such a brilliant idea…**

**This was madness, but I did not care. Everyone would be dead and buried!**

**But Christine... Her face appeared to my tortured mind, the feeling of her little hand steadying me, holding me back from plummeting into the pit of my own black imagination. Oh, Christine! Suppose she were to return… Suppose she were to be hurt or even killed in my plans of destruction… That I could not allow.**

**The tears returned to my eyes. I could not do it. There would be no sudden death for me, no retribution on the world above.**

**Love dictated my actions once more. I had learned a great deal about love since the fateful night when I carried Christine away from the stage after the interrupted performance of my opera. She had taught me how to love. All of those feelings I had experienced before—the warm surge in my chest, the furiously pounding heart, the feeling of weakness mingled with power, the sheer happiness—those were not love. The guessing games I had played, trying to read her eyes and her smiles, were not love. The time we spent together was not love. The wonderful lightning that occurred between us when we touched was not love. All of these things would be motivated by love, a part of love for any normal man. However, this loneliness was the only love possible for me. **_**Love is sacrifice. Love is pain.**_

**A great cry of raging anguish came from my very soul. **_**Why?**_** My fists pounded the stone walls. I ripped off my wig and mask, dashing them to the ground, tearing at my own thin hair madly. I stalked to the lake and threw the mask into it, kicking my empty boat. Then my legs gave way, and I crawled back to my place at the foot of the stairs, screaming… howling… weeping….**

**At last, my fit ended. My head fell heavily to the floor. A sigh of resignation echoed in the empty cavern. I could do nothing to bring Christine back. All that I could do was wait. And so I fell exhausted into a fitful sleep, curling up on the flagstones beneath the steps, like a dog awaiting the return of his master.**

* * *

**I awoke a few hours later to find my whole body aching with hunger. The time was the furthest thing from my mind, but my stomach was certainly concerned with that foolish triviality. Christine had me well trained. Before she had come to live with me, I ate only when I remembered to do so, but now she had me accustomed to three delicious meals each day. My stomach was making the most awful noises, and I clamped one arm across it in a futile attempt to silence its complaints. I groaned, rolling onto my back. **_**Oh Christine, why can't you be here now**_**? I though mournfully, my mouth watering at the idea of her cooking. I reprimanded myself at once. She was happy away from me, happy with that boy. **_**How dare you, Erik! You selfish creature. How dare you think more of your appetite than her happiness? It would serve you right to suffer through your own cooking now.**_** A sardonic sound that was half snarl and half laugh came from my lips, reverberating off the ceiling and walls.**

**My arms trembled as I pushed myself to stand, and the room swam a bit. I steadied myself on the wall, breathing deeply. Slowly, I made my way to the boat and lowered myself into the little craft. For a moment, I thought of leaving a note for Christine, in case she should return while I was gone, but I shook off that foolish hope and continued. I rowed slowly toward my home, sitting in the boat for once and not standing.**

**When I arrived, I crawled up onto the shore, tied the boat in place, and headed for the kitchen. My steps were heavy and my head hung low. I did not want to look at this place that I had called home for so long. There were too many memories now.**

**I was forced to look up in the kitchen, driven by hunger to seek out something to eat. My gaze swept over the familiar room and the tears began afresh.**

_**I could see Christine sitting at the table on her first morning with me, watching my attempt at cooking breakfast. Her beautiful lips turned up into a smile as I tried to salvage the burnt eggs in the pan. And then she stood, extending her hand as she came toward me, wanting to help. "Let me," she said…**_

_**I saw her turn from her cooking and ask with a furrowed brow when we would be married…**_

_**She stood there again that evening, singing to herself. I approached, singing to her and I held her in my arms. And she told me not to let her go, not yet…**_

_**I saw us cooking together, as we had done a few times before that tragic day in the carriage when she saw the viscount. Christine was busily tossing ingredients into a large bowl as I stirred them. A rather large glob of the floury mixture slopped onto my dress shirt. I stared at it alarmed, but Christine merely giggled and told me that it would come right off. Her little hand traced over my left cheek, wiping away a bit of the batter that had landed there as well. I leaned into her hand, delighting in the contact. With a pink tint to her cheeks, she turned suddenly back to the stove, the one part of the kitchen that was off limits to me.**_

**A sorrowful sigh flew from my lips, and once again tears threatened to spill out of my eyes. I fought them back angrily, weary of my own pitiful weeping. Forcing myself to do something, I strode to the pantry and flung open the doors. One lone tear escaped from my eye as I peered inside. I slammed the pantry closed at once and moved on to the icebox, only to slam it shut as well. This I repeated with each one of the kitchen cabinets and drawers, nearly splintering the final drawer in my haste to close it. With a cry, my fingers tangled in my sparse hair, and I crumpled to the floor weeping. This was too much. Famished as I was, everything was just as Christine had left it, and I could not coerce myself to touch anything.**

**When my tears had slowed, I dragged myself off of the floor and out of the kitchen, determined once more that I could not go on like this. I could not break out into tears every time I looked at something in my own home that brought back a memory of Christine; I would do nothing but cry if I did. Slowly, I went from room to room, observing them all dry-eyed, but hardly without pain.**

**The library where Christine and I had spent many a peaceful evening together was now empty and cold. Our books lay abandoned and gathering dust.**

**My study where we had cried together and I had drawn her portrait was no longer a place of inspiration; it was a place of memories that weighed heavily on me. An image of Christine cruelly tied to that chair flashed in my mind far too vividly. **_**Erik, you animal… How could you have done such a thing? Do you never think of the consequences of your actions? Christine was right; all you think about is yourself!**_

**The main drawing room, containing my organ caused no melodies to play in my head. The many candles gave off no warmth and little enough light. All I could see was Christine standing there beside me as I played and she sang.**

**The room with the swan bed, the room that had belonged to Christine, held far too many bitter-sweet memories. I could only stand in the doorway, choking back tears; I could not desecrate that hallowed room with my presence.**

**At last I came to my own room, the room with the coffin bed, the disheveled room where I had taken out my grief and rage. The room where we had shared our first kiss. Had it really been only this morning? Time had lost its meaning to me.**

**I closed my eyes, moaning involuntarily as my mind took me back to that morning of ecstasy. Every kiss, every touch, every caress, every moment of my shameful behavior, played through my mind, and I allowed it. I enjoyed it. My body reacted, begging for release… begging for Christine. Trembling hands reached to touch myself as I wished my angel would.**

"**Stop it!" I growled. "Stop it this moment, Erik! You do not deserve her. You never have and you never will." With resolute stride, I took myself to the bathroom mirror and pushed my face as close to it as I could without blurring my vision.**

"**No please!" I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut. Only that morning, I had been able to look upon my own face without revulsion, knowing that Christine could do the same. But now she was gone. Now I was afraid again, as I had been as a child when my mother first showed me why I must always wear the mask.**

"**Yes, look! **_**Look!**_**" I taunted, prying my own eyes open again. I was talking to myself, arguing with myself, but I did not care. Really, it was not all that unusual without Christine here to keep me sane. "Look at yourself, you hideous beast… Remember how you disgraced her? How you touched her and kissed her? You are not allowed to kiss anyone, especially not an angel like Christine… Remember what your mother told you? You wretched, filthy animal... Crawl into your coffin where you belong and die!"**

**With that, I clutched the mirror in both hands and threw it at the tub with such force that both the glass and the wooden frame shattered. I left the room, slamming the door and reentering my own room. My eyes swept the destruction disdainfully. Bottles everywhere. The very sight of all of those bottles made my stomach churn. Certainly I would not be tempted to drink so much again soon. It was rare behavior for me, and the thought was positively repulsive. Moving to my dresser, I procured a new mask and wig. I had to get out of here. ****These rooms, this place, were no longer mine, not now that it had been **_**ours**_**. The entire house seemed empty as a tomb without Christine, not like a home at all. The silence was palatable. I had loved silence before, but I could not abide it here now. Everything would be left as it was, a shrine to a life and a love that could never be.**

* * *

**Blindly, I wandered the cellars like a lost soul. The maze of intertwining passageways that I had created became my new home. I do not know how many hours I drifted from corridor to corridor, but at last my feet returned to the edge of the lake.**

**A bitter smile came to my lips as I took in the most peculiar sight: a mask floating in the waters of my beloved Lake Averne. It almost looked as though I had drowned. In fact, had I not recalled throwing the mask in there myself and had I been a stranger wandering the cellars, I would have sworn that its owner had drowned himself. **_**It would be so easy. No one would care. No one would even miss you.**_** The thoughts came, and I was both shaken and enticed by them. Drawn to the water as by a siren's call, I knelt at its edge and leaned over longingly. I could see myself slipping into the icy black water, sinking face down, my lifeless body floating just under the surface alongside the mask…**

**The peaceful darkness that those waters could bring looked so welcoming. But then my mind's eye could also see an intrusive mob gathering, dragging me from the lake, possibly still breathing… prodding at my face. I shuddered. No, it would be best to die some other way, some place else. Some place where no one would find me except Christine. It was best to stick to the plan, what little plan I had.**

**And so I continued my wandering. In a few minutes, my stomach let out an obnoxious growl, reminding me that it must be long past lunch time, perhaps past dinner time. I glared at my midsection, but knew that I could not go on for much longer without something to eat.**

**My options were severely limited. There was the food in the house on the lake, but Christine had fixed it, and in my mourning I could not bring myself to eat it now that she was gone. I once had a habit of going to the Opera's kitchen above for food. The kitchen workers never minded so long as I left them a sizable tip. That, I'm sure, was a privilege I enjoyed thanks to Madame Giry. But I had not been in many years, preferring to foster the legend of the Opera Ghost, and good ghosts do not haunt the kitchen, stealing food. Besides, going now would be foolish. Now that they knew I was no ghost… I could not risk being imprisoned in a cage again. Visiting any restaurant in Paris would also be unwise. After the events surrounding my opera, everyone would be on the lookout for a man in a mask. That left only one option remaining: I would have to pay a visit to Mirabelle Giry.**

* * *

**I made my way through the familiar passages, once again exiting through the Rue Scribe gate. The chilly morning had transformed to a tempestuous evening. Lashing winds gave the rain a harsh angle, and no one on the street gave me a second glance in my hooded cloak. I was just another Parisian to them, hastening through the downpour to my destination. Despite the rain, I did not call a cab, preferring to walk the short distance to the little flat on the Rue de Provence.**

**As I walked, my mind could not help but wander back over my turbulent relationship with Mirabelle Giry. She had been the first to treat me with kindness, rescuing me and hiding me in the Opera. At the time, she was thirteen years old, and I calculated that I must be near the same age. She had been the nearest I had ever had to a sister, visiting me in my make-shift home in the cellars when she was not busy with her ballet. Knowing how I hated wearing that awful bag on my head, she brought me a mask from God knows where, and never once asked me to remove it. Despite her kindness and friendship, she was never one to show emotion, and that suited me perfectly. Through her own solemnity, she taught me the façade that I would need in the years to come.**

**And then **_**he**_** came along, the one who could make her feel things and express them as she would for no other. His name was Jules Giry, a carpenter who had recently come to work at the Opera building sets. He was several years older than her and handsome enough, although poor. Mira was smitten with him and his flattering attentions. I was not exactly jealous of the man who had captured her heart; I never felt any sort of romantic feelings for Mira. But our time together began to dwindle. The only thread tying me to the world above was stretching to the point of breaking. My only friend preferred the company of another and abandoned me to my own dark imagination. She said that Jules had begun asking questions about her time spent in the cellars, and told me that it really wasn't proper for us to be alone together. That had never bothered her before, but I did not question her. I was hurt and angered by her abandonment, but I suffered in silence.**

**Left to my own devices, I grew restless and ventured out into the cruel world beyond the Opera walls. The traveling fairs were the only life I knew, and so I joined one again. This time, however, I was not a freak in a cage, but a free performer. I was still forced to show my face, but only at the end of each show, and only briefly. In my time at the Opera I had studied many things, including magic. My skills as a magician, my ethereal voice, and my hellish face earned me much renown, and I was called upon to perform for kings in several countries. In Rome, I learned masonry. In India, I learned the secrets of the Punjab Lasso, my most deadly weapon. All across the continent, I studied music. Later, I spent some years in Persia as court magician, architect, and adviser to the Shah. There I was also called upon to entertain the Sultana, a bloodthirsty woman who nurtured my hatred for the human race, calling upon me to create entertaining deaths for her enjoyment. When the imperial favor turned against me, a second friend, Nadir Khan the Daroga of Mazenderan, came to my rescue. Although he was assigned to kill me, he set me free, asking in return only that I commit no more wanton murders and kill only in self-defense, as he knew one with my face must be forced to do. Perhaps he gave his own life for mine; I will most likely never know. With my lust for blood satiated to the point of revulsion and that promise weighing upon my conscience, I returned to Paris to hide in the Opera.**

**By that time Mirabelle had married, given birth to a daughter named Meg, and lost her beloved Jules to cholera. Tragedy had made her stronger, and she was now ballet mistress. Our friendship rekindled to some degree, but she treated me with weary respect, sensing some indefinable change had taken place in me during my travels. She was too kind to say as much, but I was hardly the type of person she wanted around her child. Our meetings were infrequent and brief, and although she did not approve of my new guise of the Opera Ghost she also did not report me to the management. She even helped me, delivering my letters and returning with my salary. I offered to share a portion of the money, but she said that she was an honest woman who would not profit from extortion; she was a proud, independent woman, and her salary kept her and Meg comfortable, even if they had to do without many little luxuries two incomes had given them in the days when her husband was alive.**

**A few years passed peacefully enough, and then Mira's kind nature once again brought her to take in a misfit, and in doing so rock the very foundations of my world. Apparently, she and Jules had befriended a Swedish violinist of incredible talent by the name of ****Johan ****Daaé. The man had died and left behind his only child, a girl of seven, named Christine. I thought little of the news when Mira told me that she was going to bring the girl to the Opera, but then I saw her. Even as a child Christine Daaé was the very image of my mother Madeleine, yet without a certain harshness about her eyes. She seemed a shy and sorrowful child, but she danced prettily for her audition and sang and old Swedish folk song with a crystal clear voice that would draw the attention of any musician. I loved her instantly in a strange, not quite brotherly way, despite our difference in years, and longed to shape that voice.**

**My many hidden passages allowed me the liberty of observing her. She lived in the dormitories, devoted all of her time to singing and dancing, and had no friends beyond little Meg and her mother. There was a sadness about Christine that drew me to her more than her beauty and voice would have alone. She was sent to save me, and I to save her. I felt an undeniable kinship with this girl who lived in perpetual mourning for her dead father, and in only a matter of days that father reached beyond the grave to provide me with a means of speaking with her. Christine made a habit of visiting the Opera's chapel each night before she went to bed. There she lit a candle and prayed for her father. And there, one night, she spoke of the Angel of Music her father had promised her, dismayed that he had not come. That night, when she crawled into her bed in the dormitories I cast my ventriloquist's voice into her head. Trembling with delighted apprehension, she asked if I was the Angel. I told her that I was and sang her to sleep. Our lessons began not long after that.**

**In her excitement, Christine let slip to her adopted mother the secret of the lessons that she was receiving in the chapel from the Angel of Music. Mirabelle knew at once who this Angel must be and confronted me. She was indignant that I would play such a game with an impressionable child like Christine, and appalled a few years later when she inferred my growing feelings for her. When she scolded me like the protective mother hen that she was, I assured her that I would be discrete and not pursue Christine until she was older. She was not fully satisfied with that assurance, but there was nothing she could do to stop me as she was still unwilling to turn me over to the authorities.**

**And so as the years passed we remained distant friends, and Mira did not interfere with my eccentric wooing of her ward. Although she frequently offered the advice that I drop the pretext of Angel and show myself to her. Christine was no longer a little girl, she said, and would not believe in angels forever. The fact that she was growing into a woman was plain to see. My face had banished any possibility of my receiving even a kiss from any member of the fairer sex, but that did not mean that I was rendered blind or impenetrable to the pain of unrequited love. Quite the contrary. Christine's exquisite beauty caused feelings to erupt in me that I had always denied myself the right to experience. I had never considered myself a member of the human race, but Christine made me feel every bit a man. With each passing day I longed increasingly to possess more than merely Christine's voice; I wanted desperately for every part of her to be mine. But I kept up our little game, knowing that while she embraced the friendship and guidance of the Angel of Music, she would be unlikely to respond in such a favorable manner to Erik.**

**Mirabelle had warned that there would be suitors of flesh and blood to lure Christine away from her Angel, but I had kept her from them quite successfully by telling her that if she must bestow her heart on earth, there was simply nothing left for me to do other than to return to heaven. That threat worked wonderfully until Raoul de Chagny waltzed back into her life. I was forced to reveal myself to her then and pull her into the dizzying spiral over which none of us had control. Mira was not pleased when Christine disappeared, but I returned her soon enough. I received quite a tongue-lashing from her for the "accidental" death of Joseph Buquet, despite my protests that it was unavoidable. The man knew too much. It was more than his silly gossip; he had gone poking around in the cellars one time too many, and just before I needed to make a point to the new, obstinate management. That murder seemed to be the final straw. Mira actually began to encourage Christine in her secret engagement to the viscount. After the masquerade, I heard her conversation with Chagny. I knew that her predicable mothering protection of Christine would lead her to take the young man to the cellars that night when I spirited my beloved away after my opera. It was all a part of the plan, I needed the young man as a bargaining chip, and I could hardly blame her for acting as I knew she would. Still, I hoped that enough of our friendship remained that Mirabelle would be willing to put news of my death in the Époque for Christine when the time came.**

* * *

**The rain had let up a bit by the time I arrived at the door. I knocked and waited for Mira to answer, surprised when her daughter opened the door instead. All of the color drained from the poor girl's face when she saw me standing there. She trembled visibly.**** The blonde dancer backed away slowly, her throat constricting in a silent scream. Then she tore off down the hall, calling for her mother.**

"**Meg, what on earth is wrong?" came the familiar voice. There was no reply, only the sound of two sets of footsteps until the two ladies arrived at the end of the hall.**

**Meg pointed in my direction with a quivering hand, the words "Phantom" and "Opera" barely discernible in her broken, terrified whisper.**

"**I see," said Mira, her eyes fixed on me. "Go to your room, Meg. You will be quite safe there." The girl scampered away, and her mother approached me with her familiar dignified stride.**

"**Well, come in," she said calmly. When the door was closed behind me, she continued, her volume not rising, but the intensity behind her words had certainly increased. "What on earth were you thinking, Erik, coming here? All of Paris is looking for you. Do you **_**want**_** to die?"**

**I shrugged. "Perhaps. No one has come yet and dragged me out of the cellars."**

"**They certainly tried," she rejoined. "An angry mob went down after you that night, and several gendarmes joined the hunt, for good measure. Five innocent citizens and two gendarmes lost their lives in your traps before they turned back."**

"**It is good to know that my home is well protected," I told her with a grim smirk. "I've never had the opportunity of so many volunteers to test the system before."**

**Clearly exasperated, she crossed her arms and glowered at me. "What have you done with Christine Daaé? Tell me, Erik, or I swear I will not protect you any longer?"**

**Her angry threat could not help but arouse my own fury. "Never in my life have I harmed a woman," I ground out. "Heaven help me if I begin with you who first showed me kindness."**

**She flinched at my words, but to her credit she stood her ground. "Where is Christine?" she repeated, her voice softer this time, almost pleading. "She has been gone for nearly two weeks."**

**The raging emotions of the past several days overcame me then, and I broke down sobbing. Through my tears, I could see her looking first startled and then perplexed. It had been many years since Mira had seen me in a state like this, and she had never quite known what to do with me when I wept. Hesitantly, she reached one hand out and patted my arm.**

"**Come into the kitchen," she said. "I'll fix you some of that Russian tea with lemon that you like."**

**She guided me down the hall and to a chair at the little kitchen table. Then she busied herself with the tea while I attempted to gain some control over my tears. When I had regained my equanimity I explained to her all that had happened, from Christine's agreement to stay with me in exchange for the viscount's freedom, to our kiss and my decision to release her of that promise, and our torturous farewell at the Chagny estate.**

**At the close of my narrative, she remained silent for a few moments, choosing her words carefully. Then Mira looked up from her tea, her eyes locking with mine.**

"**You did the right thing in letting her go, Erik," she said solemnly. "I must admit that I was worried before that you did not truly love Christine." At my attempted protest, she held up her hand for silence, and I complied. "You were obsessed with her, and obsession, although powerful, is not the same thing as love. Now I have no doubt of your love for her. You care enough about Christine to give her the life that she desires, even if that does not involve you. You have allowed that love to make you a better person. You have proved yourself worthy of her in that respect."**

"**Have I?" I snorted incredulously into my tea.**

"**Yes, you certainly have. I am proud of you. And if Christine does return—"**

"**She won't."**

"**She may or she may not. Believe what you like, but I know Christine better than you do. You were her tutor, but she has been like a daughter to me from the time that she came to live in the Opera. Give her time, Erik. If she does come back, then you will know without a doubt that she loves you."**

"**She will come back to bury me," I told her, the emotionless façade slipping back into place. "I have told Christine that I am dying of love for her. I need you to put an advertisement in the Époque after my death, so that she will know that the time has come to fulfill her last duty to me."**

**Mira chocked on her tea. "Dying? You?" She gave me an appraising look, as if she could assess the status of my health simply from a glance across the table. "No one dies of love, Erik." She said this very seriously, and for a moment I saw a flash of old pain resurrected in her eyes, a look that told me that Jules' death had once affected her far more than she had let on.**

"**My heart is giving way," I said gravely. "It has been beating quite irregularly since that day in the carriage when Christine saw the viscount."**

"**Your heart is fine," she replied with a patronizing air that I did not like. "You are imagining things. Sometimes I think that you have lived so long in the Opera that you imagine you are living in one. Life is more complex than a melodramatic libretto. We all go through times that make us wish we could die of love, but our hearts go on beating. We learn to cope and continue with our lives. Trials do not kill people like us, Erik; they make us stronger. You have a chance for a new life now, a better life with all that you have learned."**

"**I will never forget Christine," I told her, my fingers gripping the teacup until it might have shattered.**

"**You do not have to," she said. "We do not have to fall in love again, but we do have to move on. And you must begin by being careful. Broken heart or not, you do not want to spend the rest of your days in prison. You cannot continue to show your face above ground. Someone is bound to notice the mask."**

**Then a coughing fit overtook her, and relieved for the chance at a change of topic, I looked at her in concern.**

"**You are ill?" I asked.**

"**Just a cough," she assured me. "It has been going around the corps de ballet for weeks. Some girls have been worse than others. I am better than yesterday. In a few days I will be fine."**

**She took another sip of her tea, and my stomach chose that moment to complain again.**

"**Hungry?" She couldn't help but smile.**

"**Yes," I admitted grudgingly. Although I had come to her for food in the first place, my pride would not allow me to beg.**

"**You have not eaten since Christine left this morning?" she asked.**

**I shook my head, not bothering to tell her that I could not recall my last meal. Had I eaten at all in those three days locked in my room?**

"**Meg and I just finished dinner before you arrived," she said gently. "I am sure we have enough left over for you."**

**In a few minutes the smells of reheating food radiated from the stove.**** The remains of the freshly baked baguette she was slicing looked like a little piece of heaven. I pressed one hand to my stomach just in time to smother another plea for food. Normally I do not have much of an appetite when I am upset, but the kitchen looked like paradise to me that evening. At last Mira ladled the bean soup into a large bowl and brought it and the bread to the table. She left me to eat in peace, knowing that the mask rubs uncomfortably when I chew wearing it.**

**As soon as the door clicked shut, I tore off the mask and fell eagerly on the meal. The wine was good, but I was quite satisfied with a single glass. However, I exercised no such self-restraint in my eating. After three days with little but liquor in my belly, the gentleman was long gone. I gulped down the food in a lack of manners I would never have shown in front of Christine, shoving whole slices of bread into my mouth at once. I ate like a starving animal, devouring every morsel in sight.**

**When I had finished I sat back with a sigh, wiping my mouth and replacing the mask. I was rather uncomfortably full, but it was certainly a better feeling than the gnawing hunger with which I had come. Rubbing my swollen stomach, I smiled. Christine's food would last a few days longer now. I would not be forced to eat again for quite some time.**

**On my way out, Mira met me in the hall. She handed me my cloak in silence, but there was a familiar, unsettling look in her eyes that told me that she had been thinking.**

"**Erik, I think that you should leave Paris." Ah, there was the bomb I had been waiting for.**

"**Why?" I queried, turning to face her, my tone a bit harsher than I had intended.**

"**You have nearly two weeks' worth of memories with Christine in your home," she answered, unfazed. "I know you well enough by now to realize that you will not be content there alone. You won't even eat the food that she has left you. The Opera was your home, but I will not stand by and watch it become your grave. Left there, you will simply pine away for her, but elsewhere surely you could employ yourself in some way. Work and time are the best cures for a broken heart. With all of your talents… with your heart… There is a capacity for so much good in you."**

**I scoffed at that, but said nothing.**

"**A change of scene, a fresh start, would be good for you," she insisted. "Pack your things, leave whatever shrine behind that you feel you must, and go somewhere that you can begin again."**

"**And if Christine returns?" I asked, sarcasm pushing away the hope that I did not wish to feel.**

"**If Christine returns and wishes to find you, I will gladly help her," she said immediately with such sincerity that I could not doubt the truth of that statement. "You know my address. Write to me when you arrive at your new home. I will keep in touch with both of you."**

"**Very well," I replied with a sigh. "I will consider your advice." Although I did not like to be manipulated or mothered by her, her plan sounded better than any I had arrived at on my own. After all, had I not come to the same conclusion myself, that I could no longer live at the house on the lake? And as much as I wished to, I could not force my heart to stop beating short of suicide, the thought of which made me shudder, like the good little Catholic that I was raised, although I had not heard mass said since I was a child. More importantly, I would be hard pressed to hide the manner of my death from Christine when she came to bury me if I were to kill myself.**

"**Au revoir, Erik," she said, interrupting my thoughts. Her hand squeezed my arm once more as I pulled the hood of my cloak to shield my masked face from view. In that moment, I saw the young girl who had taken pity on me standing at my side, fearing for her friend who was like a brother, doing all that she could to give me hope for the future once more.**

"**Au revoir, Mira," I replied.**

**And with the exchange of one last gloomy smile, I disappeared into the rainy night once more.**

* * *

**Back at the Opera, I was forced to enter the house on the lake once more in order to change out of my rain-soaked clothing. I considered sleeping at the foot of the stairs beside the lake, where Christine would be sure to find me if she were to return by the Rue Scribe passage, but only a nap there earlier in the day had left me stiff and sore. Sleeping there all night would be unthinkable. Next, I thought of sleeping in the boat, but that would be equally uncomfortable. Christine's bed and my own coffin bed were out of the question, for the memories that they would evoke would surly keep sleep at bay. At last, I settled on the idea of the couch in the drawing room. Dressed in my nightshirt, and carrying an armful of blankets and pillows from my bed, I moved to this new location and arranged a nest for myself.**

**Once I had settled down, I was dismayed to notice the lingering scent of Christine's perfume on the sheets from our kiss that morning. The tears began afresh then, and I cried myself to sleep.**

A/N: I have departed from tradition a bit by calling Madame Giry Mirabelle and not Antoinette. My reasoning for this is first that I did not want to give her the same name that Andrew Lloyd Webber gave her in "Love Never Dies." Although it gave us some fantabulous music, I prefer to pretend that the sequel never happened due to its abysmal plot. Secondly, despite her wonky French accent, I really like Miranda Richardson's portrayal of Madame Giry in the 2004 movie. She shows us the real person behind the stiff and mysterious ballet mistress who delivers the Phantoms' letters. There is no direct translation of Miranda to French, but both Miranda and Mirabelle mean "wonderful," so it was the closest thing I could find. Thirdly, the name Mirabelle was popular in the Middle Ages, died out, and was briefly revived in the 19th century, so it even works with the time period. In this chapter Erik's thoughts have given a bit more insight into his history. As before, what I have written here is borrowed from Susan Kay's novel _Phantom_, and is slightly modified to fit the 2004 movie/ALW musical time-line. I just had to throw Nadir in there, even though he doesn't appear in the musical, because I love him so. *squeezes imaginary Daroga doll* Erik left out a bit when he was telling Christine his life story earlier, didn't he? All of that rambling and he still managed to leave out the most bloody years. But can you blame him? As one final note, if you want to listen to a song that goes perfectly with this chapter, check out Luciano Pavarotti singing "O del mio amato ben." There is a great recording on YouTube complete with English translation.


	15. The Perfect Fiancé

A/N: Chapter fifteen is here at last! Sorry about the delay. I've been sick, and this chapter took quite a bit of research. Hope you all enjoy it. There is plenty of Raoul in here, for those of you who have been missing him or wondering what he's been up to for all of this time. I'll stop babbling and let you read now. More notes at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 15

The Perfect Fiancé

Christine

I sat frozen in my seat, unable to move as Raoul and I stared at each other. No words came to me, and for a moment he did not speak either; he just stood in the doorway, gazing at me with such relief flooding his dear face. Then he was rushing to my side and pulling me into an embrace.

"Christine!" he cried. "Are you alright? You've been crying. Did he hurt you? Shall I call a doctor?"

"I am fine," I replied, staying pressed close to his chest, more so that I wouldn't have to meet his eyes than for the comfort such closeness should bring. In truth, I was far from fine, but what could I tell him? His doctor couldn't fix the injuries Erik had inflicted on my heart.

"How ever did you escape?" He pulled back enough to look down into my eyes.

"I didn't have to," I told him honestly. "Erik sent me away."

Raoul looked at me strangely then, repeating in obvious confusion, "Erik?"

"The Phantom," I said flatly.

His eyes held a look of surprise, as if astonished that such a creature even had a name, but thankfully he made no such comment. But then his brow furrowed.

"Why would he let you go?" he asked.

I shrugged, my eyes drifting from his gaze to the wall behind him.

"After I saw you that day in the carriage, we had a fight. I said some cruel things to him, and he did not speak to me for three days. When he finally came out of his room again this morning, I apologized…" I bit my lip. I couldn't tell him about the kiss, not now when the pain was still so fresh. Perhaps not ever. It would only hurt him to know. Taking a deep breath, I continued, hoping he would not ask for details. "And he sent me away. I supposed I wounded him enough that he thought I was no longer worth the trouble." I fought to keep the bitterness from my voice, knowing that it would only evoke more questions.

My eyes drifted back to Raoul, who still looked confused, but he did not press me for more on the topic at the moment. He trusted me to tell him all that there was to tell in time. I could see it in his eyes. Dear, sweet Raoul was the perfect man every girl dreamed of having in her life. Why did I long for Erik's prying eyes, burning into mine until I revealed all that I felt and thought?

Cradling my hands in his, Raoul could not help but notice the absence of the sparkling diamond ring he had given me.

"He kept our ring?" he asked, twirling the simple gold band in its stead between his fingers. I nodded. "Is this from him?" There was a twinge of jealousy in his voice.

"It's only a farewell gift," I told him, resisting the irrational urge to snatch my hand away and protect Erik's ring, although it was certainly in no danger. I was being ridiculous. It must have been my strained emotions.

"And the music?" Raoul asked, his eyes drifting to the manuscript at my side.

"Yes, another something to remember him by… as if I could forget," I sighed miserably. I wanted to hide the beautiful piece of music. I could not handle discussing Erik's wedding mass after the agony of that protracted morning. The key to the Rue Scribe entrance felt like a leaden weight in my pocket. I could not commit the treachery of showing it to Raoul. For all I knew, he still had his head full of ideas about seeing Erik arrested. Oh, but surely he would not do such a thing! Not now when I was safely back with him. His goal had always been to protect me, and there was no reason for him to wish Erik any harm now.

Once again Raoul set my fears at rest by not demanding or even suggesting that I tell him more. He even removed the discomfort of constant eye contact by turning where we sat on the divan to face the warmly glowing fire, one arm resting gently around my shoulders.

"I wanted to come back for you at once," he said, gazing at the leaping flames in the hearth. "When I returned from that nightmare in the Phantom's lair, the Opera above was deserted. The air was full of the scent of fire, and I rushed home to assure my parents that I had not been injured. They had not been to the Opera that night, choosing a party of friends over the work of an unknown composer. Mother could tell at once that something was dreadfully wrong. She and Father questioned me, and I told them how the Opera Ghost had kidnapped you from the stage and I had gone after you with Madame Giry's help and advice." His hand squeezed my shoulder momentarily. "I told them about the chandelier crash and the fire. I told them about the mockery of a choice the monster gave you between my life and your freedom, and of your sacrifice." With a mirthless laugh, he continued. "They thought I was raving mad and tried to calm me. I assured them that they would see that I spoke the truth when the morning papers came out. Everyone saw that deformed creature steal you away in the middle of the performance; surely some brave souls must be willing to help me rescue my innocent fiancée from his clutches and capture the fiend. I should have known something was wrong when they wanted to stall me until morning. My parents tried so hard to calm me, assuring me that they would do all that they could to help, but not until morning. Mother sent me to bed with some hot tea. It tasted odd. She admitted later that it was laced with laudanum.

"The following morning, I awoke in a strange room." The panic in his eyes was so fresh as he relived the recent traumatic events. "Crisp white sheets on a white wooden bed… white walls… a peaceful painting of the sea… a window overlooking a beautiful garden… a window with bars on it." Raoul swallowed convulsively, still staring straight ahead, and my heart ached for him. "I was in a private asylum."

"Oh Raoul, how awful," I gasped, my arms moving automatically around his waist. "Why would your parents do such a thing?"

"They love me," he replied, looking down into my eyes and holding me close. "They wanted to protect me from myself." Our eyes drifted back to the fire, but we stayed in our close embrace, like two frightened children telling ghost stories.

"For days I saw no one but the occasional nurse. And then finally, my mother came to pay me a visit. She told me how she had agonized over my safety. When she and Father read the morning papers they were terrified. All that I had told them was true, and there were several deaths reported, not just from the fire and the chandelier crash. A band of gendarmes and civilians had gone into the underworld to track down the murderer of Piangi and Buquet. Some of them did not return alive; they died horrible deaths in his traps down there. My poor parents could only imagine me charging off to add my name to the list of casualties for your sake. Mother reminded me of my duty to the family and that a singer was beneath my station." He looked apologetically at me, before going on. "I argued that I would not give you up for old-fashioned ideas. She claimed that no girl could be worth going back down there. I told her that she did not know you as I did. But she was firm on having my agreement to be careful before releasing me. Childhood friend or not, Mother insisted that I must not risk my life again for your sake, chasing after some madman. I agreed to go about things differently, leaving the situation in the hands of the proper authorities. Mother took me home with no further argument, apologizing for the desperate measures she and Father had taken to insure my safety.

"That very morning, I went to the police, dismayed to find that they had lost men to the Phantom's traps and would not mount further investigation in the Opera's cellars. I spoke with the managers too. Firmin and Andre gladly accepted my offer of funding for repairs of the fire damages, but would hear nothing about sending men into the cellars again." Here Raoul paused, meeting my eyes once more.

"It was in the aftermath of this grave disappointment that you passed me by in your carriage and called out to me. You cannot imagine my relief when I saw that you were alive and well. My plan to overtake the brougham failed, but I had hope, knowing that sometimes he took you up into the world. I changed my plan then, looking for helpers in rescuing you above ground. I had little success, but then you arrived on my doorstep and made those plans unnecessary."

I smiled at him in silence, not sure how to respond to his narrative. Poor Raoul had gone through so much for me. _Any girl would be lucky to have a fiancé like him_, I told myself, squeezing his hand lightly.

A knock on the door startled us both. At Raoul's command to enter, a middle-aged maid with a pleasant smile stepped into the room.

"Luncheon is served, Monsieur le Vicomte," she said, giving a little curtsy.

"Shall we?" Raoul stood, offering me an arm, which I took, nodding silently. "Father is attending to business affairs," he told me, as we made our way to the massive dining room. "And Mother was called away to visit a sick friend, so we have the house to ourselves until suppertime."

"Good," I sighed, not caring that my relief showed blatantly. "I must admit, I am rather nervous to meet your family again." I hadn't seen any of them since before the masquerade, and then only at a few parties that Raoul had invited me to attend with his family during our three month secret engagement. They had tolerated me then, but now…. How would they react to my presence now, with Raoul openly determined to make me a part of the family?

"Don't be nervous," Raoul said, pulling out my chair and then scooting it up to the table as I sat, ever the perfect gentleman. "They will love you for my sake."

I wished I could be as certain as he was, but it was one more worry for my already troubled mind. Still, if he was confident that I should not let it bother me, then perhaps I should put the thought aside for now.

We ate in a companionable silence at first. Then Raoul looked at me, his forehead creasing with a sudden concern.

"You didn't have a bag with you when you arrived. Or has Aubert taken it from you already?" At my blank stare, he clarified, "The butler."

"Oh, no," I told him, keeping my eyes on my plate. "Erik wanted to keep all of the gowns he had made for me." A surge of agony shot through me at the thought of Erik sobbing into one of my dresses and requesting that I leave them behind. I bit my lip, blinking back the sting of tears that appeared with that memory.

"Not to worry," Raoul assured me, unfazed and apparently taking my look for embarrassment instead of pain. "We'll make a trip into town this afternoon and pick up your belongings from the dormitories. Most of the damage from the fire was confined to the Opera's auditorium. We can stop by a dressmaker too, if you like," he added. "My sisters will want to show you off at a few parties, so you must have something new to wear."

"I would like that," I said, faking a smile. The idea of returning to the Opera so soon flooded me with unwelcome anxiety and hope, and the thought of being poked and prodded by a seamstress today was hardly appealing. But then, I supposed it was necessary, since I had nothing but the clothes on my back.

"Christine," Raoul prompted, taking my hand and looking at me seriously. "You don't have to pretend to be happy about it. We will spend as little time in the Opera as we can. When we've finished at the dressmakers, we'll come home again and I can give you a tour of the estate before supper."

"That sounds lovely," I replied, my smile a bit more genuine.

* * *

Soon after we had finished our meal, I was seated in a carriage with Raoul at my side. The windows were shuttered against the chill wind, and we were bundled up in cloaks and scarves. Next to his driver sat a maid a few years older than me named Nannette, who apparently was to help me dress and fix my hair and such things. The thought of having a lady's maid was a bit odd to me; some of the singers at the Opera had had their own maids, but we ballet girls had always dressed ourselves, calling for help from our friends when laces and buttons were too hard to reach. One more reminder of how different my life would be now.

Once we arrived at the Opera, Raoul helped me out of the carriage, taking my arm and leading me up the steps to the looming doors. I swallowed, half wishing for this trip to be over as soon as possible and half hoping that Erik would swoop down from some hidden spot and steal me away again. The once bustling palace of music was dim and vacant today. My eyes flickered to every shadow as we made our way to the dormitories, no doubt a behavior Raoul took for fear. We collected my belongings quickly, Nannette helping me to fold my clothing and pack it into a large trunk.

All too soon we were once more in the light and climbing back into our carriage as the driver strapped the trunk to the back. I berated myself for my silly fantasies. Erik did not want me anymore; he had shunned my love in cruel revenge for my every rejection in the past.

The oppressive air lifted as we went on to our next errand. I was a good enough actress to play along nicely with Raoul's game of dressing me up like a life-sized doll. After all, he was only doing it to cheer me up. Soon acting turned to actual enjoyment. I couldn't help my delight at the beautiful velvets, silks, satins, laces and trims paraded before me. I had never worn anything so nice, except for costumes and some of the gowns that Erik had given me, but I refused to think of him now. Only the best would do for the fiancée of the Vicomte de Chagny. I would be dressed like a princess for all of the parities that were to come. By the time we were headed back to the château, Raoul and I were chatting happily. I could almost pretend that the whole affair with Erik had been nothing but a bad dream.

Back at the estate, Raoul took my hand as I stepped down from our seat in the carriage. Then he tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, smiling.

"Now, where shall we begin?" he asked. "Inside or out? We are already dressed for the weather, but if you're too cold, we can save the outdoor portion of our tour for later."

I shook my head.

"No, I'm not too cold. Let's start outside." The cloak Erik had given me, which I still wore, was both warm and beautiful. I scolded myself for thinking of him again, and shoved the thought aside, following Raoul and attempting to listen to what he was saying.

We began with the park surrounding the château. Even in the winter it was a lovely place, full of elegantly carved benches, tables for picnics, dormant flower beds, and a large grassy lawn. There was even a fountain with grand statues of horses surrounding its central pillar. Its water was frozen and still for the winter, but I could imagine it bubbling and flowing on a spring day. Raoul showed me the tennis court and promised to teach me how to play when the weather was warmer. The gardens too, although well cared for, looked cold and dead on that winter day, but Raoul assured me that there would be stunning roses in the spring.

Next we visited the stables, which were at least as large as the Opera's stables. I had no idea what one family could possibly do with so many horses, but I didn't ask. Instead I moved silently from stall to stall, petting each velvety muzzle as Raoul introduced me to the horses, talking about their pedigrees and races they had won. Ah, so racing was a hobby of his father's. That explained the numerous horses then. Although Raoul rode well himself, he had never been much into racing, but he promised to let me ride any horse I chose whenever I wished. My eyes moved over the stalls and settled on Ares, a towering black stallion with fire in his eyes. Raoul followed my gaze, looking uneasily at my choice before suggesting Aphrodite, a petite snowy white mare, more suitable for a lady. The point wasn't worth arguing at the moment, and we moved on.

Our last stop outdoors was a greenhouse full of beautiful flowers, fruits, and vegetables all thriving through the winter. Raoul introduced me to Henri, their gardener, who helped us pick a lovely bouquet. We took the flowers back into the house, where Nannette took them from me to find a vase. Then we shed our cloaks and scarves to continue the tour.

From the main hall, we moved to the drawing room where Raoul told me the family spent a great deal of time together most evenings. The walls where papered in a peaceful sky blue pattern. Comfortable couches and chairs were gathered together before the fire, with a chess table in one corner and a card table in another. A dark cherry wood grand piano stood near one wall with a harp nearby and Raoul's violin in its case. He explained that his oldest sister Eleonore played the piano, and Jocelyn, the second born, was a harpist. They visited often with their husbands, and there was rarely a day here without music. At least that was something to be grateful for. Or was it? How could I sing without my tutor? _My Angel_. My mind wandered to our lessons during my time in Erik's home, his voice flooding my inner ear, taking over my senses…

Raoul's hand on mine startled me out of my reverie. He looked at me in concern, but once again did not push me to answer any questions. No doubt, he thought my time with Erik was full of painful memories. And he was right, only the memories were not painful in the way that he must have thought.

We visited the study next, an imposing room full of brown and black leather-bound books. The centerpiece was a heavy wooden desk strewn with papers. I half expected to see music on those papers… or drawings of me. Shaking my head, I turned to follow Raoul to the next room, determined not to let my thoughts take me back to Erik's study.

The library was warm and inviting. There was even a window seat full of plump cushions, the airy curtains tied back as if inviting one to come and read.

Next Raoul took me down the wing filled with family and guest bedrooms. Each was done in a different color scheme and had a full suit with extravagant bathrooms. The room Raoul had chosen for me was decorated in white satin and lace, the walls covered in painted pink rosebuds. I told him that I loved it, and I really did. I refused to miss my bedroom in the house on the lake, instead taking in the detail of my new living space. The beautifully carved wardrobe was already full of my old gowns from the Opera, and the new ones would be joining them in a few days when they were ready. My bouquet was already sitting on the bedside table. My eyes came to rest on Erik's wedding mass, sitting unobtrusively on the bed. What was that doing here? I told myself that one of the servants must have moved it from the parlor. Not wanting to think about the music or its composer, I took Raoul's hand and moved quickly toward the door.

The wing with the servant's quarters was next, although we did not go in. Raoul did briefly show me the large kitchen, where he introduced me to Adele, the cook, and her helpers Sasha and Estelle. I recognized Sasha as the woman who had called us to lunch and exchanged a smile with her before Raoul pulled me on to the next room. He seemed excited to show it to me, his eyes twinkling and his lips turning up in a secret smile.

We passed the dining room where we already had lunch, and the parlor where we were reunited. Then Raoul pushed open a pair of decorative wooden doors.

"Mademoiselle, I give you the ballroom," he said with a sweeping gesture.

I couldn't help but gasp in awe as I took in the sight. The room was beautiful with its gilded paneling, sage walls, and intricately designed ceiling with a row of crystal chandeliers. The patterned wooden floor was so polished that I could almost see my own reflection. So far on our tour, I had allowed Raoul to do most of the talking, regaling me with tales of the history of a picture here and a vase there, telling me anecdotes of his childhood, and showering me with promises of adventures to come. Now I turned to him giving a heart-felt smile.

"Thank you, Raoul," I said, allowing my eyes to express the gratitude that I could not seem to put into words. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome, Little Lotte," he said, looking down at me with eyes full of affection. There was a pause. "Would you care to dance?" he asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

"I'd love to," I replied, allowing him to take my arm and lead me into the center of the dance floor.

Together we danced, our only music the sound of Raoul humming a popular waltz. It was a lovely game. I allowed my mind to drift away, losing myself in the dream, too weary to fight when my mind transformed Raoul's voice into the ethereal voice that would always haunt my thoughts. Only Erik could sing like that, his soul reaching out to me through his voice, caressing my senses and entrapping me in a warm blanket of sound. Raoul's loving blue eyes also changed in my mind's eye, altering to become a darker pair of eyes, glowing with a love and passion that both frightened and excited me. His handsome features transformed into Erik's twisted ones, and I gazed on them not with disgust or fear but with love. The hand on my waist became more insistent, possessive. I was dancing with Erik now, and I never wanted it to end.

Suddenly, the image was shattered by the sound of a vaguely familiar voice:

"Christine Daaé!" Raoul's mother stood in the doorway, her arms spread wide as if ready to embrace us both as she approached. "Thank Heaven you are alright. Philibert and I only just arrived, and Aubert told us everything. Raoul, thank you for being a dear and showing her around." By that time, she had reached where we were standing, still frozen as if about to continue our dance. Raoul and I parted in order to receive a quick hug and a kiss on each cheek. Then she was leading us from the room, saying that supper would be ready at any moment, and we didn't want to be late.

* * *

My first meal with Raoul's parents was something of an uncomfortable affair, but Raoul was right; they both treated me with kindness for his sake. They avoided the topic of the Opera. Instead, Madame de Chagny gushed over me, complementing everything from my hair to the gown that I wore. The only gown from Erik that I had been able to keep. My eyes fell to the simple but lovely emerald striped dress, enhanced with touches of cream lace. It had been the first thing I could grab from the wardrobe when I had fled to my room to pack. Thankfully, Raoul's mother's voice drew me away from that train of thought. She insisted that a visit from Eleonore and Jocelyn was in order, as they would want to see me again as soon as possible. I was a bit perturbed when that idea blossomed into a ball in my honor, but Raoul's father turned the conversation to an upcoming race. I smiled at him gratefully. The rest of the meal, I spent picking quietly at my food while the family chattered on about horses.

After dinner, came the part of the evening that I dreaded most. Raoul and his father stayed talking in the dining room while his mother ushered me towards the drawing room. I followed her gentle but adamant leading with one last glance over my shoulder. Raoul caught my eye, and I knew that the men would be joining us soon. They certainly could not come soon enough for me.

Before I knew it, I was seated on one of the couches next to Raoul's mother. The fire danced before us, but its warmth did not seem to reach me.

"Now my dear, we can have a little talk, woman to woman," she said with her ever-present exuberance. "It must have been simply dreadful being kidnapped and forced to live under the Opera, and by your own singing teacher. One really never knows who to trust these days, does one? If you ever need a woman to confide in, you must feel free to come to me."

"Thank you Madame," I replied a little stiffly. "I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Oh, not to worry. I do not mean to pry, only to let you know that I am here whenever you do wish to talk. And you must call me Sophia, since I am to be your mother."

"Alright, Sophia." I gave her a smile that was more optimistic than I felt. "I'm sorry for coming here so suddenly. I didn't mean to intrude on your hospitality with no notice, but I knew Raoul would be worried and want to know at once that I was safe."

"Think nothing of it, my dear," she replied, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "It was only natural that you should come here as soon as possible. I am thrilled that you came out of the catacombs alive and well, especially for poor Raoul's sake. He has loved you since the two of you were children, and I shudder to think what would have become of him if you had vanished for good." She sighed, looking into the fire before recovering her cheerful air. "But all of that is over now. At first, I did not believe him when he declared that he would never forget you after that summer by the sea. Ah, but I should have known my stubborn boy better than that. So like his father. I will tell you that I had hoped for a more fitting wife for him, but I can understand why he is so taken with you. And after all, Philibert and I agree that the most important thing is his happiness."

"Thank you," I replied, returning her smile. "I will do my best to make him happy."

Raoul and his father joined us then, and we all sat down to a game of Bridge. I had never played before, so Raoul was constantly leaning over my shoulder, whispering advice on what to do with my hand. The time passed quickly with light conversation and little of the awkwardness the evening had been filled with until then. When the game was finished, I stood ready to say goodnight and escape to my room. Comte Philibert was at my side at once, pulling out my chair for me.

"I was wondering, Christine, if you would favor us with a song," he requested.

"Oh yes, do!" Sophia chimed in as Raoul helped her to her feet. "It has been far too long since I've heard that lovely voice of yours."

I wanted to refuse or at least protest that I was tired, but then Raoul agreed as well. "Would you, Christine? It needn't be a grand aria. A simple song will do with your voice to bring it to life."

"How can I refuse?" I replied. With a strained smile I moved to the piano. I thought for a moment, my back to the rest of the room, settling at last on a song that Erik had been teaching me in our lessons only a few days ago. Turning, I extended one finger toward the piano, playing only the starting note. Then, after taking a calming breath, I began to sing:

"In a sleep which your image charmed,

I dreamed of happiness, ardent mirage.

Your eyes were softer,

Your voice pure and sonorous.

You shone like a sky lit up by the dawn.

You called me, and I left the earth,

To flee with you towards the light.

The skies opened their clouds for us.

We glimpsed unknown splendors and divine flashes.

Alas! Alas, sad awakening from dreams.

I call you, oh night, give me back your lies.

Return, return, radiant, mysterious night!"

The driving accompaniment played in my head as I poured all of my sorrow and frustrated longing into the song. Erik would have been displeased with me for singing cold, but this song had a small enough range and simple enough melody that it really didn't require a proper warm up. He would have been pleased with my performance, at least. My voice easily filled the small room, my tone soaring and free. I executed the difficult rhythms perfectly even without accompaniment. And there was no need to act. The tears stinging my eyes were real.

When I released the final note, there was a moment of silence before the family burst into applause. I scarcely heard their words of praise. While the emotional release had felt good, all that I really wanted was to be alone with my thoughts at last. At first I had welcomed the escape of constant company and flow of activities, but now I found them smothering. I had had enough for one day.

"Excuse me," I blurted out, no longer caring about propriety and whether or not I was interrupting anyone. "I am very tired. If I may, I would like to retire to my room for a warm bath and some sleep."

"Of course, my dear," the Comte conceded with an indulgent smile.

"You must have had a dreadfully long day," Raoul's mother agreed. "We will see you in the morning."

"Allow me to escort you to your room, Christine." Raoul was beside me in a moment, offering me his arm. I took it and followed him into the hall where Nannette stood waiting. At his order, she scurried off in the direction of the bedrooms to draw up my bath. We walked in silence until the drawing room was out of hearing range. Then Raoul spoke:

"I hope that Mother did not trouble you. She can be a bit overwhelming for those who do not know her well."

"Yes, she can," I agreed with a weary smile. "But she was very welcoming and considerate."

"She has a good heart and means well," Raoul agreed, smiling down at me. "But she can be overzealous. I will try to leave you two alone as little as possible."

"Thank you," I replied with a smile of my own.

Soon we arrived outside my bedroom door. As we stood on the threshold, Raoul entwined his hand with mine, seeming unwilling to part from me just yet. How could I blame him after all that had happened in the past few weeks?

"Good night Christine." He sighed, his other hand coming up to push a stray strand of hair out of my face and gently tuck it behind my ear. "If you need anything, do not hesitate to call for me." Dear Raoul. He was always there for me, always my protector. An image of Erik holding me and singing me to sleep while stroking my curls flashed in my mind.

Suddenly, I was overcome with desperation for a kiss. The thought occurred to me that although Raoul had held me and kept me near since my arrival, he had not yet kissed me. Perhaps this was the best way for me to prove to myself that I really did love Raoul and not Erik.

I gazed up at him, my lips slightly parted, inviting a kiss. Raoul took the invitation with no hesitation, his lips meeting mine in a tender kiss. Gently his hand released mine and came to rest upon my waist, softly stroking up and down. There was no electric spark, no tingling sensation where his hands touched me, no warmth coiling in my lower body. Frantically, I pleaded for him to deepen our kiss, one hand gripping his shoulder. With a boldness I had never shown him before, I buried my fingers in his hair, clutching him to me, bringing our bodies closer… closer. I opened my mouth for his exploration, and he responded. Still there were no chills running down my spine, no rush of overpowering sensations assaulting my body, no undeniable yearning for more. I felt safe and at peace in his arms as I always had, but that was all. Now that I had known more it did not seem enough. I told myself that the fire I felt in Erik's arms must be unnatural, sinful even. This was how a good girl was supposed to feel with the man she loved. But I could not quite convince myself. For all that I felt in Raoul's arms now, he might as well have been my brother.

I pulled away from my stunned fiancé, my cheeks flaming. I was angry with myself for my lack of physical response to his embrace and his lips on mine. Angry with myself for the visions of Erik's kisses barraging my mind. I rushed to my room, flinging a goodnight over my shoulder and half slamming the door behind me.

* * *

Inside, Nannette guided me to the en suite bathroom where, at last alone, I undressed and sank into the warm water. Finally left to my thoughts, I dreaded confronting them. _Erik_. He haunted every corner of my mind. I wanted to focus on the negative aspects of our relationship, to drive away my love for him with the hatred they should evoke.

_I saw Erik on the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_ pulling the noose tighter around Raoul's neck, madness in his eyes. "Past the point of no return," he sang mockingly, "the final threshold. His life is now the prize which you must earn. You've past the point of no return."_

_I saw him in the boat only a short time afterwards when he should have been taking Raoul to safety. Raoul was calling out to me, promising to return. Suddenly Erik turned on him, his eyes burning with raw furry. I gasped in horror. He was shaking… choking Raoul._

The scene changed._ We sat at Erik's kitchen table now, and he was demanding to know why I wished to put off our wedding, his hands locking on my wrists in a bruising grip._

_And then later in his study he was tying me to a chair, spitting hateful words at me. _But how could I forget his apology? _Erik was crawling at my feet, taking back the cruel words he had said, promising to work on controlling his temper. I tried to resist, but then he fell sobbing at my feet, and I could not help but comfort and forgive him._

My mind rebelled._ I saw Erik holding me, swaying and humming comfortingly as I wept into his chest... His head in my lap as I stroked his sparse hair... Erik singing me to sleep after yet another nightmare... The way his eyes would light up every time he saw me in a new dress, shimmering with that strange light, as if he was falling in love with me all over again..._

_I reveled in the sound of his music drifting from the adjoining room while I prepared our next meal._ During our time together, Erik had used the time while I cooked to work on his music. Cooking no longer seemed a chore when I was serenaded by his playing the organ or violin, or best of all, his singing. _And then there was the gratefulness on his face for something as simple as sharing a meal with me._ As Erik became accustomed to the companionship he had been denied in the past, our meals were no longer spent in stretches of uncomfortable silence between my hesitant questions and his answers. We discussed folk music from Sweden and the many counties he had traveled to, our favorite operas and composers, and the books we enjoyed reading. Erik often overwhelmed me with his wealth of knowledge, going into musical analysis that was beyond my understanding when arguing the merits of a particular composition, or describing characters from a foreign book on which a certain opera was based. Then we would fall back into our comfortable roles of teacher and pupil, and he would explain the concepts with a patience that surprised me. It was almost like having my Angel of Music back.

We had continued our lessons. Erik assured me that I would return as prima donna when the Opera was repaired from the fire. Some days he would give me regular lessons, others he warmed me up and then left me to practice on my own while he composed nearby. One day we simply sang together, duet after duet from Erik's vast library of music. My eyes drifted closed as I recalled that afternoon. _Our voices blended gloriously and soared in the candle-lit cavern, echoing back to us. Erik's eyes shown with ecstasy, lost in the beauty of the music we were creating together._ No incorporeal angel could bring me such joy. No spirit could hold me the way Erik had.

Unwillingly, my thoughts turned to our passionate kisses. Even the memory of his embrace caused the same sensations to flood my body. Along with those feelings came confusion. _I could taste Erik's tears on my lips and feel the cold emptiness as he suddenly pulled away._ His perplexing words echoed in my mind. He had claimed to love me still, but how could he when he had practically ordered me to leave? Tears slipped slowly down my face, disappearing into the bath water. All of my conflicting emotions surrounded me, making me feel like I was drowning. I climbed out of the tub and dried off, dressing quickly in the nightgown that was laid out for me.

Back in my room, I stared out the window at the pouring rain while Nannette brushed my hair, weaving my damp curls into a thick braid. My thoughts wandered back to Erik and our parting that morning. He had said that he was dying of love for me. _I could feel his furiously pounding heart beneath my hand as he held it there._ He had even asked me to come back and bury him with the ring he had given me. Oh, but surely all of that was just meant to hurt me further. He couldn't really be dying. Lies! All that he had said this morning had been lies, an attempt to wound me as much as I had wounded him. I couldn't help but wonder how much of our time together had been a lie. When had Erik gone from loving me to cruel acting in order to win my heart and then push me away in revenge?

Nannette finished with my hair, and I dismissed her mechanically. Alone again, I flopped onto the bed, fingering Erik's ring and giving way to sobs at last. I cried until I thought I would break. Then I sat up with new resolve. When I was living with Erik, I had decided that I must stop thinking of Raoul. Now the tables had turned. If I wanted to keep my sanity, I had to stop thinking about Erik. I was miserable thinking of him, and all of my tears and longing would not bring him back to me.

With trembling fingers, I removed the simple gold ring from my finger. I retrieved the Rue Scribe key from the pocket of my dress in the wardrobe and placed them both on top of the wedding mass, shoving all three into the bottom drawer of my bureau. The drawer closed with a satisfying thud. I washed my face and then returned to bed.

I would do this for Raoul. He deserved no less than my whole heart after all that he had suffered for my sake. He had fought with all that he had to free me. And I did love him. I had loved him for as long as I could remember. I had the perfect fiancé, and I was determined to be the loving bride-to-be that he deserved. It was time to forget about Erik.

A/N: Just a few quick notes: Most importantly, for those who haven't taken a look at my profile, I am sorry to announce that I am finishing this story alone. My friend SparklingTeardrops (formerly Christine4ever86) and I started writing this story as a two person role-play back in 2005, and it transformed into a fan fiction. By the summer of 2006 we had written and posted the first 13 chapters. Then real life took over. Although we both hoped to get back to our story, and even talked about it a few times, those plans never came to be a reality. Chapter 14 (my lonely, angsty Erik chapter) is all my own work, and evolved over the past several years. After I finished and edited it, I sent it to my co-authoress. She was excited, and once again we talked about finishing the story together. Then we had another talk, and she gave me her blessing to finish the story on my own. While we would have loved to finish our story together, it just was not possible. Her schedule won't allow it. So after a seven-year hiatus, _Together Forever_ is back. The last chapters may come slowly for me, like this one did, because of the challenge of writing for both characters. My challenge is not only to write Christine in a different voice from my Erik, but also to write her as true as possible to the Christine that SparklingTeardrops created in the first thirteen chapters. So leave me a review and let me know how I did. There is no counterpoint in these chapters, simply because it didn't flow properly when Erik and Christine are not together. For those who are wondering, the song Christine sings in near the end of this chapter is an English translation of "Après un rêve" by Gabriel Fauré. It is taken from a combination of various translations on the internet. There are lots of great recordings of the song on YouTube if you want to check it out. Whew! Sorry about the long-winded author's note. Hope you enjoyed the new chapter, dark and depressing as it was. Poor Christine is so torn. We will hear more from Erik in the next chapter. Please review if you have a moment.


	16. This Hell Called Life

A/N: Dearest readers, once again I must apologize for the long wait between chapters. Sorry, RL has been crazy busy lately, and I also experienced a bit of writer's block for a while, near the start of this chapter. It seems to take me a little over a month to write each chapter, so you'll probably have the next one in early July. That said, life is still insane right now, but it's a good type of insane. I am busy with a local production of Sound of Music at the moment. We've got a great cast, so I'm looking forward to the show in July, but it could slow down the writing process a bit. Just FYI. Also, some of you may have noticed that I have changed the rating of this story from T to M. But don't get too excited or upset. We have been toeing the line between the two ratings from the beginning of this story. This chapter, I feel goes beyond "minor suggestive adult themes" (T) to "non-explicit suggestive adult themes" (M). I have, and will continue to keep things discrete without going to the extreme of Victorian suggestivism, which I feel that few of my readers would appreciate. In dealing with such passionate characters, crossing the line eventually was inevitable in this story. Now it has happened. So if you are young or particularly sensitive, beware as you read on. That's all for now. Enjoy the chapter and please leave me a review.

Chapter 16

This Hell Called Life

**Erik**

_**There was darkness. Then a small and familiar light came into view… a lantern, bobbing up and down just above the black water. Christine was balancing precariously in my boat, attempting to steer it with the long pole clinched in her white-knuckled hands. Her eyes darted about the shadowy waters at the strange echoes surrounding her trembling form. Suddenly one of her strokes was too hard. The craft rocked violently and then overturned, casting her mercilessly into the water. She let out a scream. Her little arms flailed about helplessly as waves lapped around her, her golden voice distorting into more cries for help. It was no use. The heavy fabric of her gown was soaking up the water, dragging her downward with its mounting weight. Soon she had disappeared into the depths of the lake, and in moments the bubbles of air vanished as well.**_

**Gasping for breath, I thrust myself into a sitting position on the divan where I had spent the night. My heart pounded out a painfully strident rhythm as I took in my surroundings, and the events of the past few days flooded my tormented mind. With trembling hands I cast aside the sheets, scarcely noticing the perspiration which had left them and my nightshirt damp. I did not bother to change. I did not even think to search for a mask. My mind was consumed with one thought: **_**Christine is dead**_**.**

**Desperately, I made my way on land to the Rue Scribe side of the lake, where I had left the boat for Christine, should she return. Horrible visions bombarded my thoughts… images of that nightmare and its dreadful end… the thought of her beautiful form floating in a watery grave, her curls fanned out, her eyes closed forever…. I attempted with little conviction to assure myself that it had only been a dream. The boat would not overturn so easily. And Christine was safe with her young man, far away from the Opera's cellars and the icy clutches of the lake. She had not drowned. But the only thing that could truly assuage my fears waited at the end of the winding passageway.**

**After what seemed like ages, I arrived. I sunk to my knees in relief at the sight of the boat. It was still moored at the shore, unused since my visit to Mirabelle. For several minutes I remained there, unable to move, numb with the abatement of that all-consuming dread. It did not even matter to me that Christine had not returned. She was safe. Alive.**

**Gradually, my senses returned to me. When at last I regained enough control over my body to move, I made my way back to the house on the lake. The darkened corridors stretched on endlessly before me, and by the time I had reentered the drawing room, black despair had eclipsed my relief. Mocking silence greeted me, the only sounds the beating of my own disenchanted heart and my ragged breathing. The void before Christine seemed nothing to the gaping hole that she had left behind now that she was gone. My chest tightened, my battered heart convulsing at the sight of what had been my home… **_**our**_** home. **_**Oh Christine, all that I ever wanted was your love. Must I live on without you? Is death too much to ask for now?**_** Thoughts of suicide tugged at my mind again, tempting me with visions of release from this cruel life.**

_**How would you like to find me, my love? With a bullet to the head? Dangling from my own Punjab lasso? Bled out from a slit throat or severed wrist? Or perhaps clutching your tear-stained veil in one hand and an empty poison vial in the other?**_

**The last idea appealed the most to my artistic sensibilities. It would be the least messy, the least disquieting for my beloved upon her return. Perhaps Christine would see the tragic romanticism in it. Perhaps she, like Juliet, would taste the poison upon my lips and join me in eternal rest with a dagger buried in her heart. But Christine would not be coming back; certainly, she would not leave the arms of her vicomte to rest in my cold embrace. And despite the melancholic beauty of such a scene, I could not desire her death. Shaking my head, I felt hot droplets begin to fall from my eyes once more. She was happy with the boy… but I knew her kindness, her pity all too well. My death would only cause her more distress, and that was the last thing that I wished for.**

**For Christine's sake, I would go on enduring this hell called life. But I would not—**_**could not**_**—do so in this house. If I stayed, I would be driven mad by grief.**

**I swallowed the rising sobs before they could escape me. With eyes downcast, I marched to my study, determined to shut out the raging agony that threatened to render my mind useless. Despite my large meal the evening before, pangs of hunger were once again assaulting me. I ignored them. Experience had taught me that they would subside, at least for a few hours, if I continued to pay them no heed. If I was going to follow Mira's advice and leave Paris, I had better have some destination in mind before going to the trouble of packing. The Opera had been my home for so many years that I had accumulated quite the collection of assorted possessions; choosing which of them to leave behind would be no easy task.**

**After consulting some old maps, I came to the conclusion that the greater part of Asia and Europe was out of the question. During my travels, I had spent varying amounts of time in most of those countries. Perhaps some still recalled "The Devil's Child" and "The Living Corpse" of the traveling fairs. I did not feel that it was worth my time to put in the effort of researching the death or survival of kings who had decreed my execution. Better to assume the bastards were still alive and out for blood, and consider my other options. The heat of African forests and deserts or Australian wildernesses was unappealing. England seemed a bit too close to home. My eyes drifted further north. Scandinavia would be a beautiful place to wallow in my misery, surrounded by the clear blue skies and lakes of Christine's homeland.**

**Sighing with intense frustration, I sat back in my chair, my fingers drumming out a reoccurring rhythm of their own accord. What did it matter? My life would be an empty one without Christine wherever I chose to go. Looking to the map once more, my gaze fell upon the Americas. Perhaps that would be best. Although it would be foolish to hope that the relatively young nation would be primitive to the point of more leniencies toward someone with a face like mine, they had recently experienced a civil war. And wars tend to cause grotesque injuries, even some as hideous as my own face. In any case, I could speak a bit of the language due to reading some English books, and there would be sufficient space for me to live far away from **_**people**_**.**

**With this decision made, I returned to my bedroom, planning to dress and begin clearing away the wreckage caused by my anger and grief. But my eyes were drawn immutably to the bed, and with them, my mind to the kisses that I had shared with Christine only the day before. Helplessly, I stumbled toward the familiar coffin-like box, now the subject of such gloriously heart-rending memories. How I longed to lose myself in those memories, to forget the bitterness of reality. I inhaled deeply, hoping to find her scent there. It was faint at best. Desperate, I rushed to the couch where I had slept, grasping the blankets and holding them to my disfigured nose, only to find that the smell of my own sweat had all but drowned out her perfume.**

**I made my way blindly to her room, that haven where I could revel in the essence of Christine. Her wonderful scent was all around me here, and I could imagine that I still felt her warmth with me. I flung open the wardrobe, lovingly stroking each of the gowns that she had worn. Memories of our time together washed over me, and I basked in the sweet and the bitter alike. Tears seeped from my eyes, silent tears at first, but in time they transformed into wracking sobs.**

**I staggered to my organ, collapsing on the bench as I gasped and choked, drowning in my tears. With Christine gone, I had no choice but to cling to my first love: my music. It was all that I had left, and so I lost myself in it. For hours I played whatever came to mind, bits of requiems and operas, symphonies and concertos, the works of famous composers long dead, modern-day masters, and many of my own compositions.**

**At last I stood stiffly, drained of all emotion. In this state, I could force myself to remember Mira's words: "Work and time are the best cures for a broken heart." I could not affect the laggard ticking of the clock, but I could keep myself occupied with the task of packing and leaving this place as quickly as possible. I began by cleaning up the broken glass and spilled liquor in my room, followed by the profusion of empty bottles.**

**Several hours later, my room and the adjoining bathroom were in their usual state of order. I had disposed of my broken and spoiled belongings and returned the rest to their proper places. With a weary sigh, I surveyed the area, getting no real satisfaction from all that I had accomplished.**

**Once more my stomach announced its dissatisfaction with my infrequent meals, and reluctantly I gave in to its demands. As I made my way to the kitchen, I muttered curses beneath my breath, vexed with Christine for making me accustomed to regular meals like a normal person, instead of my former habit of living on music and forgetting to eat often.**

**I stopped in the doorway, steadying myself and taking several deep breaths. A battle was raging in my mind. How could I disturb this room so full of memories when everything was as Christine had left it? I had tried before and failed. Yet my sensible side argued that the food would not remain as it was. In time it would mold, spoil, putrefy. There was no logical reason for restraining myself from eating it, forcing me to obtain the necessary provisions elsewhere.**

**With a gusty sigh, I strode to the counter. I could not help but cringe at my own actions as I reached for the first food in sight, an apple in the nearly empty fruit bowl. I devoured it before I could change my mind, hardly tasting the sweet fruit. When only the core was left, I turned it over in my hand idly, attempting to recall the amount of cyanide per seed. How many would it take to kill a man? I had books that could answer those questions; however, I dismissed the idea, recalling that the amount of poison per seed was small enough that it would be a laughably inefficient method of killing oneself.**

**Much to my annoyance, the pangs of hunger continued, and I was forced to find additional sustenance. Taking special care to recall their exact location, I removed a knife and cutting board. With these I prepared a moderate serving of cheese and bread. Sinking into my usual chair, I stared at my meal before tentatively biting into a slice of bread. Christine and I had made this loaf together. She had told me that it was her mother's recipe, and that she had made it many times with Madame Giry and Meg. I kept my eyes fixed upon the plate as I ate, swallowing each bite as quickly as possible. The bread had been delicious before, far better than the bread I bought from the market. Now it had no flavor.**

**I had nearly finished when I made the mistake of looking up. My eyes were naturally drawn to the chair across from mine… Christine's chair. **_**I could see her sitting there, discussing music with me over a meal as if I were like everyone else. The chafing of the mask with each bite was inconsequential. Her eyes would light up in her exhilaration, as she argued the simple beauty of an opera that I found lacking in musical and emotional complexity. Without fail, I was compelled to agree with her. Mozart no longer seemed hollow and frivolous when seen through her eyes.**_

**My hands shook as I pushed the plate aside. I could no longer eat around the lump in my throat. The tears came again, and I gave way to them, burying my head in my hands and rocking back and forth.**

**When I had cried myself out, I rose with a shaky sigh. Trembling legs carried me to the sink. I cleaned and dried the dishes, carefully replacing everything in the spots where Christine had put them. Then, after dressing, I made my way to the costume department, where I emptied two large trunks. It took quite some time to carry them to the cellars, and the effort left me exhausted. I would begin packing the following day.**

**Not bothering to even glance at the time, I readied myself for sleep, again settling on the drawing room couch. But my mind would not allow me any rest. It turned inexorably to thoughts and yearnings for Christine. Again and again I relived our passionate dance.**

_**Her face was so close to my unmasked disfigurement, and yet she whispered that she loved me. And then her lips were on mine, gently at first. With a shiver—of fear? of revulsion? of passion?—she began caressing my chest, her ministrations relaxing me from my frozen state of shock. It was all too much, and I kissed her back, crushing her to me. The sound of her whimpers sent a thrill throughout my lower body. And when she shifted onto my lap I could not help but bring her to straddle me. Her tongue slipping into my mouth nearly sent me over the edge.**_

_**My body burned, and I was certain that all of this was too good to be true… only a dream… a fantasy of my fevered mind. I allowed my hands to move from her waist and make a languid trail over her body. The feel of her shapely thighs, her tiny waist, the curve of her breasts beneath my eager fingers as my hands trailed upward, over the flimsy fabric of her nightdress and robe to the supple skin of her throat—all of these overwhelmed me.**_

**No illusion could equal the wonder that was Christine, and yet, lost in my world of remembrances and dreams, my hands caressed my own body. Memory gave way to fantasy, and my thoughts transformed the bleak world of reality into one where I had insisted upon our immediate marriage when Christine asked. There would have been no guilt on that morning then, no fear of causing Christine to hate me after our magnificent reverie. It would have simply been our overdue wedding night.**

**Impatiently, I pushed the rumpled nightshirt aside in order to appease my throbbing body. This was certainly not the first time that Christine had tempted me beyond the powers of all human endurance. Only she could reduce me to this. The first time that she had unwittingly led me to this forbidden pleasure, I had felt dreadfully guilty. She had been so young.**

_**It was a few years ago, and Christine had come to her lesson, in the abandoned dressing room at the end of the hall, wearing her latest ballet costume for the upcoming production. The dress, if it could even be called that, was dreadfully—delightfully—revealing, showcasing her assets in a way that drove her poor tutor to distraction. My heart had already been awakened to love for this wonderful young woman, but on that morning new desires were stirred within me. So enthralled was I with her changing body, that I had little advice to aid in the development of her changing voice. Giving up the losing battle, I called our lesson short, sending her to a longer-than-usual rest before rehearsal. As she turned to go, I could sense her discouragement. Christine stopped at the door, asking tentatively if she had displeased me that day. I replied in a choked voice that she had pleased me very much, and my reward was an innocent smile before she finally left me alone. Behind the mirror I fought with myself, before trembling hands reached to unfasten my trousers and stroke myself into oblivion.**_

**Soon I lay spent upon the divan, as I had on the stone floor all of those years ago. Gradually, my breathing slowed and my leaden eyes drifted closed. The guilt that I perhaps should have experienced was dispelled by the knowledge that this was all that I would ever have of Christine. My time with her was the nearest I would ever come to bliss. It was over now. Memories of those glorious days and dreams of what could never be must sustain me for whatever was left of my life. Once more I wept, the flood of my silent tears carrying me away to a sleep filled with poignant dreams of Christine.**

* * *

**One day blurred into the next. I did not take notice of the passing of hours or observe conventional times for meals or sleep. I ate and rested only when my body cried out in desperation for those needs. My one goal was a swift departure from the place I had once called home, now filled with so many achingly beautiful memories. As the days passed, lachrymose mourning transformed into silent resignation. What hope remained withered and died. I even stopped checking the Rue Scribe entrance for signs of Christine's return.**

**Packing was tedious, but with little else to do, I made rapid progress. The first trunk I filled entirely with music, unable to part with any of it. Next had come the daunting task of sorting through my library, deciding which books to take and which to leave behind. The process was nearly complete, when my efforts were temporarily halted. An illness that began as merely a cold had altered, becoming a terrible wracking cough that left my throat raw and my chest aching. Mucous rattled in my burning lungs with every breath. Exhaustion was the cruelest of these tormentors, leaving me drained and able to do little but sleep and lie on the couch.**

**During this phase of malady, I managed to read through several books, which I would be leaving behind, for the last time. When I was able, I composed, continuing my work on the concerto I had begun on that excruciating day when Christine had spotted the vicomte from our carriage window. At the worst of times, when I could not sleep, yet my mind was too addled for more challenging tasks, I would sketch. The drawings were a muddled confusion of scenes: buildings and landscapes from the past, scenes from operas and books, and of course pictures of Christine. In my delirium, I immortalized her singing beside me at my organ… cooking in my kitchen… sitting in my library, swathed in white lace, her lips curving up in a sweet smile that showed just how oblivious she was to her own allure… kissing me upon my bed, my hand running over her exquisite form….**

**That final drawing held so much raw emoting that I was compelled to hide it from view, shuffling it to the bottom of the stack of drawings on the table before the couch. The movement triggered a series of painful coughs. When they subsided, I downed the remains of my cup of tea before pouring another. As I sipped at the soothing liquid, I could not help but ponder the irony of it all. Mira had told me that no one dies of love, and yet that very day she had given me this illness that could well be the death of me. A bitter laugh came from my lips, turning into another coughing fit. When I could breathe again, I took one more sip of tea before lying back on the divan, fatigued and welcoming the thought of sleep. For in my dreams, I always saw Christine.**

* * *

**As my luck would have it, I did not die. I was unaware of how much time went by during the course of that dreadful illness, but eventually the symptoms rectified themselves.**

**The final stages of packing were quick enough; in a single day, I had finished. The second trunk contained books, drawings, paintings, artistic utensils, my violin, and a few vestiges of my time with Christine that I could not be parted from. There were treasured gowns encompassed in memories too sweet to leave behind, the robe and nightgown that she had worn during our kisses, and her perfume and shampoo in order to bring back her scent as often as I wished. A lock of her hair, stolen years before while she was sleeping, occupied its usual place in my pocket watch, tied with a ribbon also taken from her dormitory. Her ring never left my finger.**

**The valise from Christine's room, I filled with the necessary clothing, wigs, and masks. As I closed it, the click of the latch had a finality that filled me with an odd sort of dread. Although I had shut out all hope of Christine returning, leaving would guarantee that she could not come back to me. True, Mirabelle had assured me that she would act as our mediator, should Christine desire to find me. And there was no question of Christine wishing to return; I had seen the eagerness with which she left me, never once looking back. Still, I was compelled to somehow calm this inexplicable trepidation.**

**My concerto would serve that purpose well. After all, I could hardly leave this place with it unfinished. A change of location during the composition process would surely destroy my flow of creativity. Or so I told myself. Hours passed as I sat at my writing desk, hunched over the score. Many sections written during my illness were useless, incoherent. And yet there were parts that were brilliant in their desperate irregularity. One entire movement had to be rewritten. When I had finished, the entire score was illegible, and so I made a clean copy.**

**As usual, I paid no heed to the time while working. Only after the music was complete did I become aware of stiff joints and sore muscles, gnawing hunger, and exhaustion. I stood, yawning and stretching. A quick glance at my watch and a trip to the surface assured me of the time, too late to catch the morning train, but too early to sit and wait in a crowd of prying eyes for the evening train. I returned to the kitchen for one final meal, the last of Christine's food. Then, as several hours remained before I would be required to carry my luggage to the world above, I settled on the couch for a nap.**


	17. Mama Giry and Meg's Advice

A/N: Here's the next chapter, dear readers, and it's even a bit early. Don't forget to leave me a review and let me know what you think.

Chapter 17

Mama Giry and Meg's Advice

Christine

The following morning, Raoul kindly allowed me to sleep as long as I liked. When I awoke, Sasha brought me breakfast in bed. Along with this special treat was the sweetest note from Raoul and a velvet box. I opened the box immediately after reading Raoul's little love letter, gasping with delight at the contents. Inside was a lovely string of pearls. After eating, I dressed in a pink gown that had always been a favorite of his, fastening the pearls around my neck as Nannette arranged my curls. My eyes were still puffy from crying the night before, so I applied a cool cloth to them for a few minutes before going in search of Raoul. The reason for my tears was never far from my mind, but I pushed those thoughts aside.

The rain had once again been replaced by snow. Raoul and I took advantage of the weather, changing into warmer clothes and venturing outside. We spent the entire day together, bundled up in cloaks with scarves and mittens, frolicking about like two children in the wonderland of white. It was almost as if we had gone back in time together. Almost. The girl Raoul loved had grown up, and even as we played like the children we had once been, a painful longing tugged at my heart… thoughts of Erik loomed in the back of my mind. I was determined to forget him though, and I threw myself into our games all the more for my effort.

There was a perfect sledding hill near the tennis court, and we sailed down it repeatedly. Several times, we came nearer to a tree than I would have liked. I clung to Raoul, squealing with fright. Suddenly, it occurred to me that he must be swerving toward the trees on purpose. I confronted him with slight annoyance, and he did not deny it. He returned my smack to his arm with a playful grin and a kiss. I forgave him his boyish tricks, flattered by his attempts to keep me as close as possible. After all, Erik had done far worse to draw me to him.

We enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch in the greenhouse, before returning to our fun outside. A brief snowball fight gave way to our goal of building the tallest snowman we could. Then Raoul surprised me with a romantic sleigh ride. My restless thoughts were constantly occupied with our games and conversation. I was grateful that I had few chances to break my promise to myself and dwell on my heartache.

Inside, we changed from our damp garments and joined the family for dinner. Our lovely day was finished before the fire, where Raoul played his violin for us. Then we sat reading together as we used to do, taking turns with a few pages each, laughing at the voices we came up with of each new character. His parents sat nearby listening and carrying on their own whispered conversation.

Only alone in my room did I allow my mind to wander back to the forbidden topic of Erik. In the darkness, beneath my blankets I wept silently, wondering what Erik was doing at the moment. My fists clenched the covers in anger. I loved him and I hated him… hated him for sending me away and yet remaining inside my mind.

All of this was my fault! Why had I not simply told him that I loved him sooner? But I had been so sure of my plan, so sure that I should wait until I no longer loved Raoul, until I was ready to love Erik with my whole heart. Even if I had told him at once, he may still have pushed me away. There was no way of knowing when his love had turned into a spiteful performance meant to bring about vengeance for my past rejections. He had seemed so genuine, but one could never tell with Erik. Anger turned to burning despair, and I cried into my pillows, muffling the sound. At last I fell into a fitful sleep, filled with new nightmares.

_I was wandering the streets of Paris, hand-in-hand with Raoul. The warm sun shown beautifully, glittering off everything that it touched. Then through the bustle of conversation, I heard a sound like no other… a voice… singing. It was Erik! It could only be him. No one else could sing like that. The heavenly voice drew me, and I followed gladly, leaving Raoul behind without a thought. I followed his gentle pleading to the Opera… up the many steps to the rooftop. And there I saw Erik's shadowy figure, back-lit by the blinding rays of the sun. His cloak billowed majestically in the breeze, and he held out one hand, beckoning to me. Behind me, I could vaguely hear Raoul's protests, but I paid them no heed. Erik was calling me back to him. With hurried steps, I returned to his side, reaching for his hand in rapturous delight._

_His fingers were like ice as they wrapped around my wrist in a vice-like hold. I looked up into his eyes in confusion, only to see that he was laughing at me. His laughter became louder… so loud that I wanted to cover my ears and shut out the crazed sound. This was not the Erik I loved. I turned to Raoul helplessly, but Erik jerked me back to him._

"_Are you happy Christine?" he asked mockingly. "I have given you your story-book ending with your young man, and still you are not satisfied. I know what you want. I will give it to you." His expression had turned cold as stone. "Death would be better than to live with an egotistical bastard such as myself, I believe you said. Raoul is a much better man, you told me. And yet you are not content with your better man. Let me hand you over to your true lover, Christine. Let me give away the bride… as she espouses Death!" Before I had the chance to say a word, I was dangling over the edge of the building, suspended by Erik's iron grasp. I looked up at him pleadingly, choking on my tears, but there was only hatred in his eyes. "Goodbye Christine," he whispered. And then he let go._

* * *

Two weeks passed in a flurry of activities. I jumped at the chance of anything to keep myself occupied, dreading the times when I was left alone with my thoughts. The nightmares continued, but worse than those terrifying dreams was the time spent alone in my room each night, yearning for a man who had flung my love back in my face.

There were balls and dinner parties, where I danced with Raoul and sang for an audience of Parisian upper class that appreciated me far less as the viscount's fiancée than as an actress on the stage. Gossip never bothered Raoul, and he encouraged me to ignore it. I was a princess in his eyes, no matter what others said.

Raoul scarcely left my side for a moment. His family was all kindness and affability. Although his parents clearly would have preferred me as a mistress rather than a fiancée, they valued their son's happiness above such feelings and never had an unkind word for me. Eleonore and Jocelyn didn't seem to mind having the daughter of a violinist as their new sister. They doted on me, taking me to extravagant restaurants and shops. Like two little girls with a new doll, they delighted in dressing me up for parities and choosing just the right ornaments to set off my new gowns.

My small collection of jewelry was growing; each day at the breakfast table there was a new gift from Raoul. Sometimes he gave me flowers, a single rose or a fresh bouquet. Other days his gift was a necklace, earrings, or a jeweled comb for my hair. One morning he knelt beside my chair and presented me with a beautiful diamond ring to replace the one that Erik had taken.

Always the caring fiancé, Raoul noticed the misery behind my smiles. One morning, he asked if I would like to see some of my own friends, instead of always being surrounded by the stuffy elite of Fauboug Saint-Germain. I told him that I would love to spend time with Meg and Madame Giry again. After all, they had been the only family I had for years. He replied that he had been hesitant to invite over anyone from the Opera until I was ready; now clearly, I was ready. A servant was sent with an invitation, and the Girys joined Raoul and me for lunch.

How good it was to see Meg and her mother again! While we ate, we chatted about the parties I had attended, the important people I had met, and the beautiful silk gowns I had worn. Meg wanted all of the details. Madame Giry told us about her current work with the dancers. They were using the ballet foyer for rehearsals until the auditorium was repaired. Meg practically squealed in her excitement as she told me about her solo dance for the upcoming opera. Casually, I enquired about the production. They were rehearsing _Il Trovatore_. More than anything, I wanted to join them… to sing or at least to dance as a gypsy girl, like Meg. Raoul wouldn't mind, even if his parents did. But I was hesitant to return to a place filled with so many memories of Erik. As always, Madame Giry seemed to understand my conflicting emotions without the need to tell her. She also understood the need to leave me be to work through those feelings on my own. The Girys ended their visit with a promise to return in a week, and I said _au revoir_ with a lighter heart, knowing that we would see one another again soon.

* * *

The following week passed much as the past two had. There were more parties, and also quiet evenings spent with the family around music, a game, a book, or simply talking. Wedding plans were forming slowly. Raoul continued to spend as much time with me as possible, paying me the sweetest little attentions and showering me with gifts. He was everything a girl could wish for in a man, and life with him was a lovely dream.

But Raoul had one great fault: he was nothing like Erik. His embraces and kisses continued to inspire me with none of the feelings I had felt in Erik's arms. A moment of our eyes locking did not send chills down my spine. Although I could never deny that Raoul loved me, his love for me and my love for him was not the same as my love for Erik. No one had ever loved me like Erik had. Love without restraint or mercy, unrelenting even when I had not returned it. Unrelenting in fading from my heart now that I did. No matter how I wished to erase him from my mind, I could never forget my Erik. His love… his voice… his eyes… his face… his very soul had become such a part of my life that I did not want go on without him. Despite my determination to forget him, Erik lingered in my mind, and I knew that he was there to stay.

I was ensconced in the library's window seat, a book open on my lap, only half paying attention to the words on the page when Aubert came to tell me that the Girys had arrived. Getting up, I deposited the book on a nearby table and rushed to the parlor.

As much as he wanted to be with me every moment, Raoul could not. He and his father were attending to some estate business in the study. Truth be told, I was relieved for the chance to talk alone with Meg and her mother. Raoul's presence and my own determination had kept the subject of Erik off limits on their first visit, but now I was ready to pour out my heart to someone. I was ready for Mama Giry and Meg's advice, whatever it would be. Raoul and I had talked a little about Erik. I had given him an abridged version of my time in the house on the lake, leaving out any details that could hurt my fiancé. There was no reason to let him know that pity had turned to fondness and then to love, before Erik sent me away. But there was no such fear of causing pain when speaking to these two women who were like a mother and sister to me. I could speak freely with them.

As soon as I had closed the parlor doors behind me, I found myself nearly smothered in a hug from Meg.

"Christine! Oh, it's so good to see you again. Is that a new dress? I _love_ that color on you… and the lace is simply divine. And those earrings! They must have cost a fortune." She hardly paused for breath, taking both my hands in hers and spinning around the room. "How have you been?"

"Fine, Meg," I replied, my lips curling into a smile despite myself. The bouncy blonde always brightened my days. "The earrings are a gift from Raoul, and the dress was bought shopping with his sisters."

"Let her have some air, Meg," came the stern voice of Mama Giry. We both looked her way. "Good morning, Christine."

"Good morning, Mama," I greeted, still smiling. At the Opera, she had always been Madame but at home she was Mama to me as well as Meg.

She too had a slight smile as she motioned towards the couch, where we all settled together. Once we were seated, her eyes locked with mine, her smile fading into a grave expression.

"I have had a visit from Erik," she told me, always direct and to the point.

At the sound of his name, I caught my breath, looking from mother to daughter.

"When?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

"On the evening that he returned you here," she said.

"Oh." My eyes fell to my clasped hands in my lap for a moment. I felt myself growing hot and cold by turns. The memory of our tearful goodbye flashed in my thoughts. Taking a calming breath, I looked up again. "How was he?" Somewhere deep inside I knew, but I asked anyway, telling myself that he was glad to be rid of me. Perhaps such news would finally help me to put him out of my mind.

"Broken." Her answer brought an acute pain to my heart, along with the faintest bit of hope. "I have not seen him weep like that since we were both very much younger. But he will recover in time."

"He told me how you brought him to the Opera," I said, biting my lip.

"Yes." She smiled sadly. "And he told me about his time with you, but I have not heard your side of the story." Her eyes prompted me to tell all that I longed to say, and I could not help but think of Erik's eyes prodding me with the same concern.

Sighing with grief, I looked between the two women who had always been there for me. Tears stung at my eyes.

"Tell us Christine," Meg encouraged, her hand giving mine a squeeze.

In a faltering voice, I began. I told them about our stormy first day together, with all of the tears it brought for both Erik and I. How we hurt and comforted each other in turns. The feelings that surged through me each time we touched. My shock at our resemblance to the portrait of Erik's parents. The way Erik held me after my first nightmare, and each one that followed.

I told them of the relatively peaceful week that passed, full of music and amicable conversation with few arguments. I told about my resistance to my growing fondness for the man who was my guide and guardian once again. Of the morning when I allowed him to remove his mask and felt no fear or revulsion.

A lone tear spilled from my eye as I spoke of that trip to the cemetery when I poured out all of my confusion before my father's grave. When I became so sure that it was Erik who I loved… that we were made for each other. I told them about how he had crushed my body to his and nearly kissed me, right there among the graves, only to pull away, muttering an apology. And how he had told his parents' spirits that we were in love when he thought I could not hear. Swallowing back more bitter tears, I told them about my decision to wait to tell Erik that I loved him until my heart belonged to him alone.

Worst of all, I relayed the tale of our journey back to the Opera when I saw Raoul and called out to him. How I had only wanted to end our engagement, and how Erik had misunderstood. I could not stop the tears that rolled down my cheeks. I told of Erik's anger and brooding, my cruel words… our arguments, in the carriage and at the edge of the lake, and my confession that he did not believe, in the boat. Those torturous days spent alone, hoping that Erik would come out of his room so that I could apologize… my aching despair when he never did.

Finally, I told them about that morning that I peered into Erik's room while he was bathing. How he had found me weeping there, among his torn blankets, and he had told me not to cry… whispered that he loved me. How I had told him that I did not mean any of my harsh words… and that I loved him. My eyes were dry, but my heart ached as I told them about our kiss… how wonderful it had been… how I gave myself over to him without a care. Clenching the arm of the couch until my knuckles were white, I told how Erik had pulled away, sobbing and commanding me to leave… And how he had taken me back to Raoul.

By the time I had finished, I was sobbing onto Meg's shoulder. She stroked my back soothingly.

"My dear, Erik did not send you away because he no longer wants you," Mama Giry said in that calm, steadying tone of hers. "He sent you away because he loves you."

"What?" I lifted my head, blinking back more tears. "But he told me that he wanted me to leave. Erik banished me from his life! The wedding mass… He gave me the wedding mass that he wrote for _us_, and told me to have it performed at my wedding with Raoul."

"Nevertheless, he is not punishing you for turning away from him in the past. He is simply doing what he thinks is best for you."

Her words only served to confuse me further. My head was pounding and my eyes ached from crying.

"I don't understand?" I whispered.

"Do you love Raoul?" she asked evenly.

"Yes," I replied at once. "I've loved him since we played together as children. Yes, I love Raoul… in a way… but I also love Erik. My love for him is different, unlike anything I've known before." My brow furrowed in frustration. "This choice should be so easy. Papa always told me to follow my heart, but it's tearing me in two. Raoul loves me. His family is willing to accept me for his sake. He is close to my own age, rich, and handsome. He is understanding and safe, the perfect fiancé. Dear, sweet Raoul has been predictable since we meant as children. He knew and loved my father as much as I did. If his family had chosen not to accept us, he would have gladly left them and lived as a commoner to be with me… I know it. Raoul is the obvious choice.

"And then there's Erik… My head tells me that no one in her right mind could choose him. For one thing, he's killed people, at the Opera and probably before. He's moody, erratic… Then there's the fact that he lied to me for years, telling me that he was the Angel of Music."

"I told him again and again to give up that façade," Mama Giry said. "Perhaps all of this pain could have been avoided if you knew years ago that your tutor was a man. I did my best to persuade him, but he would not listen. Perhaps I should have found another way to step in."

"No," I shook my head, staring into the distance. "Perhaps it was not such a terrible lie. I wanted so much for it to be true. When I needed an angel, he was there… my comforter and friend when I needed one most. Sometimes I think that I loved him even then. And after I discovered the truth, I wondered sometimes if Erik really was the answer to my father's prayers. He's hardly what I expected… more of a fallen angel. And yet, Papa always said that God works in mysterious ways. An angel could never have held me the way Erik did… An angel wouldn't kidnap me either. Twice he's taken me to his home by force. Why does that idea thrill me? I shouldn't want such things. I should be repulsed… I should hate him for all that he has done, especially for that night when he made me choose between seeing him kill Raoul or staying with him. I did hate him at first… or at least I feared him, but as time went by everything changed." I bit my lip, turning to look at the dear ladies beside me. "I cannot hate Erik. I've tried to forget him, but he will always be there, inside my mind… and my heart. He is a part of me now. I have my happily ever after with Raoul, and all I can do is wish that he were Erik."

"It certainly sounds as if you have made your choice," Mama Giry replied with a knowing smile. She pulled out a plain, white handkerchief and handed it to me. "Erik often does and says confusing things. His words and actions may hurt and trouble you, but that does not mean that he no longer cares. He does not express himself in the way a normal person would, because he has never been taught to do so. But after all of these years, I know him as well as anyone, and he loves you, Christine. From the moment he first saw you, he has cared for you, but it has taken years for those feelings to develop into real love… for him to learn to love. He sent you away with the noble aspirations of giving you the love and the life that your truly desire. How was he to know that you return his feelings?"

"I told him that I love him," I said, my heart aching even through this new hope.

"But he couldn't believe you," Meg explained. "He thought that you were simply trying to appease his anger after the argument. If you had heard him… the way he sobbed… the way he talked about you…" She glanced at her mother and then back to me. "I was frightened of him at first. I went to hide in my room, but I couldn't stay there when I heard him crying. I listened at the door and heard everything. He is so in love with you that he thinks he will die of a broken heart without you. Mama convinced him that all of that is nonsense; nobody dies of heartache. But it isn't safe for him to stay here after the affair at the Opera. And he's so unhappy in a house full of your memories. He's going to leave Paris because he can't bear it. Isn't that romantic?"

Suddenly Meg turned pale, and I felt the color draining from my own face as the same thought occurred to us both.

"Erik is leaving Paris…" I gasped. "I've been here three weeks… Three weeks. He told you this three weeks ago. Oh, he may have left already." I shot to my feet, trembling from head to toe. "I have to go… I have to return to the Opera before it's too late!"

The doors banged open, startling us all. There stood Raoul, his face red with indignation.

"No Christine," he said, "you will not."

"Raoul…" My heart ached at the pain in his eyes. I never meant to hurt him, and yet I could not run off to the Opera without telling him. I could never do such a thing. "How much did you hear?" I asked tremulously.

"Enough," he said, clenching his jaw as he blinked back tears. "How could you even think of such a thing?" Stepping to my side, he gently cupped my face with one hand, the other resting on my shoulder. "Christine, you must listen to reason. Whatever you believe that you feel for this man cannot protect you from him. And you will need protection. You said yourself that he is unpredictable. He is mad, dangerous, a murderer… I cannot allow you to go back there. He will certainly hurt you, perhaps even kill you, in his rage. Oh, he will mourn later when he realizes what he has done, but what good will that do any of us? Madame Giry, how could you condone such foolishness?"

Mama Giry would have given her defense, but I stayed her with my hand. This was my battle to fight.

"I love Erik," I answered firmly. Gently I disengaged his hands from me, taking them in my own. "I'm sorry Raoul, but I love him. Yes, I do love you as well, but not in the same way… not it the way that you deserve. As for his anger, Erik promised to do his best to conquer it when he apologized to me after he tied me to that chair. He has said repeatedly that he would never hurt me, and I believe him. His fits may make him seem irrational and dangerous, but with me, he always catches himself before he can inflict any damage. Twice he restrained himself from killing you for my sake. Ever since the incident with the chair, whenever Erik became angry with me, he would shut himself away in his room until he was calm again. Sometimes the house echoed with threatening music, other times he was silent, but I knew better than to disturb him. When he came out again, usually a few hours later, he would kneel at my feet and beg for forgiveness. I forgave him, and life went on as usual. So you see, you do not need to fear for my safety. My love for Erik cannot protect me from his rage, but his love for me can. Erik would die for me, and he would fight with all that he has to protect me from anything… even himself."

I squeezed Raoul's hands and then released them, looking up into his eyes beseechingly. Slowly, his stony expression faded into one of sorrowful resignation. He shook his head. Tears welled in his eyes, and then he pulled me into a desperate embrace. We stood like that for several minutes, before he pulled back and met my eyes with determination.

"Alright," he said, his voice strong and clear. "I will take you back to him, Christine. I cannot keep you a prisoner here when your heart is with Erik. But if he is dead or foolish enough not to want you back, know that you are always welcome here. Go and be happy, Little Lotte."

"Thank you, Raoul," I sighed, my lips quivering as they curved into a smile.

After bidding the Girys _au revoir_, I rushed to my room where I quickly changed into the gown I had been wearing when I last saw Erik. Placing my diamond engagement ring on the dresser, I opened the bottom drawer. Slowly, I slid the plain gold band onto my finger, smiling and sighing with relief. Then I gathered the key and wedding mass, and hurried to rejoin Raoul in the hall.

A carriage was waiting for us outside. We made our way to the Rue Scribe entrance of the Opera, unlocking the gate and securing it behind us. Then we descended together into the gothic splendor of lowest cellars. As we climbed into the boat and Raoul pushed off from the shore, I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer: _Please God, do not let me be too late._


End file.
